


The Noble Bachelor

by mycake



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Character Death, Drinking, Drug Use, Fluff, M/M, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Oral Sex, Past Relationship(s), Past Tense, Pre and Post Reichenbach, Present Tense, Psychotropic Drugs, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Content, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-28 08:43:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 43,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mycake/pseuds/mycake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's forgotten past has come back to haunt him. His only friend from uni, Victor Trevor, has returned and try as he might, Sherlock cannot avoid him forever. Victor takes John's place in 221-B but he soon finds that he can never replace John. Victor's arrival sparks something in John that had remained hidden for so long and Sherlock is torn between his past and present. </p>
<p>In this split-author story, both Victor and Sherlock recount the events leading up to their ultimate decision. Was it ever meant to be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Sherlock Holmes:_

It wasn’t half past four when I was awoken from a peculiarly deep slumber. John was hoovering the reception area with a specified criss-cross pattern which suggested that he was expecting company. Female company.

The only problem was, John was no longer a resident of 221-B. Though he did frequent to nag about the state of the place, he didn’t often clean the flat now that he was living with his new... _wife_. He wouldn’t likely scour the floors if she was the visitor. She had become relatively accustomed to my organized chaos and wouldn’t bat an eye at powdered protein residues on the floor or a partially-thawed rat in the refrigerator.

No, this woman had to be someone new to the flat. Given the date of their marriage they were still in the ‘honeymoon’ phase which could only mean...

“I am not going on a blind date!” I shouted from my bed as I covered myself with the sheets. John cut the power to the hoover and stormed in unannounced.

“Yes you are.” He said with his signature chiding tone. “You can’t stay locked up in your room-“

“You are sorely mistaken, John. I am perfectly capable of-“

“Well, you shouldn’t.” He said slamming the door so he could return to fighting the entropy of the flat.

The psychology of newlyweds can be summarized as such: we are just so ‘happy’ in our new life; we just can’t contain ourselves. Everyone should be just as ‘happy’ as we two. But how do we go about making everyone as ‘happy’ as we are? I know! Let’s make everyone else’s lives just as ‘happy’ by pairing them up with whomever we see fit. Wouldn’t that be great fun? Then we can all be married (and miserable) together!

Why couldn’t they just adopt a dog, take several thousand photographs of said dog, post them to some social media, and call him their baby, instead of inflicting their opinion on my permanent bachelor status?

I rolled out of my warm bed, drew closed my gown, and stepped outside to access the damage. John had moved all of my glass-ware off the kitchen table and shoved them into a cabinet designated solely for dry formularies; causing further work for myself. He had dusted the mantel, making it difficult to tell if Mrs Hudson had moved anything without my permission. Worst of all he rearranged the furniture, angling the arm chairs towards the sofa, completely destroying my mental map of the sitting room, and making it nearly impossible to navigate in the dark on a moment’s notice.

“John, go home and touch your own things.” I scowled at him pointedly to show my disapproval, as I rearranged my chair to face the kitchen. I let John’s chair be as it was his to do with what he wished.

I took my seat, steepled my fingertips, and brought them to my lips. I pretended to think of something completely irrelevant so John wouldn’t pick up on my apprehensions. From his attire I could gather this ‘date’ would consist casual dining, drinks, and perhaps a moonlit promenade. She’d come back to mine, I would invite her in for coffee, no coffee would be had, six months later: shotgun wedding.

“Could you just do this for me? This once?” He pleaded.

“Wife’s idea.” I said shortly.

“She has a name you know.”

“By-law, everyone has a given name.” I said as I searched blindly for my violin. I leaned over the edge of my chair to see that John had misplaced it.

“We just don’t want to see you die alone and miserable.”

“Fine, I’ll make sure to die with a smile on. Now what have you done with my violin?” I gave him one look and then let out an aggravated sigh. “Ransom? Honestly John, how low can you fall?”

“You’ll get it back at the end of the night.” John said as he disappeared into the bedroom.

“You can keep it. I can always replace a violin. I can never replace time wasted on trivial pursuits.” I tapped on the arm of my chair and waited for a response. John returned with my outfit for the evening. “Black on grey? Are you mad?” I asked looking at the outfit in distaste. “I would never wear a three-quarters sleeve without a jacket.” I waved my hand in dismissal and John withdrew to try once more.

He took one step out of the bedroom and I knew it was the wrong outfit. “I’d prefer not giving her the impression I’m a serial rapist... then again.” I said with a wry smirk. John rolled his eyes and returned to the bedroom for a third attempt.

“No!” I shouted as he came out with white on black. “Now you’re not even trying.”

“Fine, you pick out what you’re wearing.” He unceremoniously threw my clothes on to the back of his chair and went back to destroying the habitats of countless domesticated spiders that lived peacefully in the flat.

“Sweats and ratty shirt it is.” I said clapping my hands together. “Nothing says porn addict like a pair of loose fitting boxers and an un-ironed shirt.” John subconsciously flattened out the front of his shirt, thus proving my point.

I left John in the parlour to get dressed in something more suitable for a date, if only to make his wife happy. Not knowing exactly whom I’d be meeting, I assumed my date would be short, blonde, and marginally intelligent. Unintentional or not, I knew the two would pair me with the female equivalent of John.

I spent my time brooding and moping about my room until John’s wife arrived at seven sharp. She was on a strict schedule. There was no doubt her attentions were to quickly pair me off so John would no longer be at my beck and call. She needed someone that would feed me up and see me to bed, just as John would normally.

Being a proper gentleman, I went out to greet her. I caught one look of my date, turned on my heels, and retreated to my room promptly.

“Sherlock!” John shouted.

My date was indeed blond, of (if not above) average height, and with marginal intellect; very much like John. My date even had a moustache.

* * *

Victor Trevor and I had met at Oxford. I was on my way down to chapel when his bull terrier broke free of its lead and locked on to my ankle. It was a rather prosaic way of forming a relationship, but effective nonetheless. I was laid up in bed for ten days and Trevor was kind enough to visit every day to see how I was fairing.

Our conversations started out brief but as the days wore on, we began talking endlessly. He had no friends of his own, hardly any family to speak of; he was much like John in a way. His mother passed away after slipping into a coma, his sister died of diphtheria, and his father suffered a massive stroke while we were on the long vacation.

Over time we slowly drifted apart and lost contact. He went on to finish his degree while I dropped out just short of obtaining mine.

I never anticipated that he would come back in such a manner, under the guise of a date.

John burst into my room and before he could open his mouth to speak, I left the room to greet my visitor.

“I forgot my wallet. Shall we?” I asked, leading Trevor out before anyone had the chance to say a word.

It didn’t take long to see what Trevor had been up to for two decades. “I see you’ve made your way out to India. Chennai?”

“Dabari, it’s a village just outside of-“

“Mandawa.” I finished. “Drugs?”

Trevor sputtered a startled laugh. “Purely medicinal, I assure you. Word spread that I was a doctor so the village’s people assumed I was some sort of physician. I turned into what some would call a ‘medicine man’. I casted away demons and evil spirits; with nothing more than a bit of Aspirin and some chemical know-how.”

“Industrial chemist turned apothecary. Not much of a leap.”

“I suppose not.” Trevor said with a smile and a slight blush as he looked at the ground. His suit was unmistakably of Mumbai origin; likely purchased and tailored only days before his flight out to England. His fragrance was subtle, Clive Christian No. 1. Then again, it would have to be subtle given the price.

There was no doubt he had one thing on his mind and that was to rekindle our unique friendship. Which begged the question, who contacted who? It was unlikely Trevor’s business brought him to England, but then again he hinted at his job not being ideal. Perhaps he was drawn to London to pursue his true passion of research.

John and his wife chattered away behind us like two love birds trapped in the iron cage of marriage. They were obviously plotting my demise in their secret code. Why can’t newlyweds leave well alone?

“So you’re out here to stay.” I said, noticing his well-rested eyes and groomed hair.

“Tentatively.” He said trying to conceal his smile.

“All settled in?”

“My company has provided accommodations for the time being. Along with travel expenses; cab-fare and whatnot.”

“Drugs?”

Trevor laughed. “It isn’t what you think.”

“So it isn’t research...” I let out a hum. “Manufacturing?”

“Compounding.”

“Compounding!? You might as well have stayed in...” I searched my memory for the village’s name.

“Dabari.” He said with another concealed smile.

“You didn’t earn a doctorate to become a compounding pharmacist.” I couldn’t fathom why a man built for research would suddenly uproot himself and become a slave to the British Pharmacopoeia and the MHRA.

It became painfully obvious that Trevor hadn’t come to London for career prospects.


	2. Chapter 2

_Victor Trevor:_

Sherlock Holmes will forever remember our first meeting as the incident with my great aunt’s poodle: which had somehow, in his mind, morphed into a vicious bull terrier. She did give the poor lad a scare when she nipped at his ankle. He refused to come out of his room and sulked in his bed for nearly ten days. I visited twice daily, during meals, to provide comfort and company.

However, it wasn’t actually the first time we had met. I had seen him before, on several occasions before that fateful day. The first time I had ever laid eyes on Holmes, we were having our first of many luncheons with the Dean. Our group was discussing this and that about modern chemistry and our bright and brilliant futures. The only other boy that seemed disinterested in their small talk was Holmes.

I found myself irrevocably drawn to him. I was an odd man myself, having never attended Harrow or Eton, or any public school for that matter. I had few if any true friends, none of which attended Oxford. As for family, it had been just my father and I for the past decade.

When I moved to Oxford I became reunited with my more distant family on my maternal side. They were all a bit too haughty for my liking, but they did provide company when I had none.

After the Dean’s lunch I became more aware of Holmes’ presence. He rarely attended formal hall or any affair that required a bow-tie. He often gave the impression that he had never wanted to attend Oxford in the first place.

When he did manage to make it to chapel, he was often under-dressed, sans cap and bow-tie. I thought it was a laugh, the way he’d rebel against the simplest of things, and I wish I’d had the courage to join him.  

I rarely, if ever, saw him in lectures. If he did make it to lessons he would make his presence known by bursting through the double doors mid-way through class. I tried my best not to laugh but he had a way of flustering even the most uptight of professors.

Needless to say, when my great aunt’s dog bit him, I was mortified. I hadn’t spoken two words to the boy, yet I had been silently following him for months. I knew just about everything about him and he knew absolutely nothing about me, or so I thought.

When I started frequenting his accommodations for tea, he began informing me all about my past life. He could tell, just by looking at me, that I was home-schooled and that my father travelled abroad before he met my mother; although he was incorrect in saying it was a brother of mine that had passed away, it was still remarkable how much he could deduce from a simple handkerchief and an old wristwatch.

“That’s remarkable.” Said I.

“Mm. Elementary.” He hummed. “These items were purchased before you were born. Passed down, father to son. The handkerchief hails from the West Indies. Your watch from South Africa. The route suggests the man travelled by sea, not as a tourist, but as a sort of sailor, possibly on a private ship. He met your mother after his travels because a man with a wife and children would never purchase anything of such fine quality for himself while travelling abroad.”

“Yes, but how could you have possibly known about my sister’s passing?”

“Sister?” He gave me a look of grave disappointment.

“Yes, she died of diphtheria while abroad, teaching school children in Indonesia.”

“The watch has had two previous owners. The band’s links have been removed and replaced three times.” He let out a heavy sigh and continued to look over my watch, still attached around my wrist. “Sister.” He said solemnly.

“It was still remarkable.” My face became flushed as he continued to hold me by the wrist and look me over intently.

“You box.” He stated. My hand went straight for my nose covering it up in case it wasn’t set straight. “No.” He laughed a low and throaty chuckle. “It’s your ears.”

“My ears?” I couldn’t help but feel self-conscious.

“They have a peculiar flattening and thickening. The mark of a boxer.”

“And you fence.” Said I. I had noticed the sheathed rapier the moment I entered his room, stored away in a corner. “Used to fence.” I corrected myself.

“Observant.” Remarked he. “I did box as well.”

“Really? You don’t strike me as the boxing type. Your ears, as you said, are thin and shapely. Not thick and beaten as mine are.”

“That’s because I prefer not being hit by my opponent.”

“Who said I _enjoy_ being hit?” I laughed.

“Bartitsu. If you would like, I’ll teach it to you sometime.”

“Baritsu?”

“A lost martial art. It combines boxing, Judo, and jujitsu. Its self defence in all its forms.” Holmes spoke with a glimmer in his eye. He was obviously passionate about his art.

I agreed to take lessons from him, only to find Baritsu was nothing what Holmes claimed it to be. Certainly there was an essence of boxing in it, but rarely would he use his gloved fists, and would opt to land more punishing blows with his shins and shod foot. It resembled savate in a way, only when he wasn’t actively trying to sweep me off my feet with a coup de pied bas, he had a cane in hand that he would thwack me with mercilessly.

“My word, it’s just a combination of boxe française avec canne d’arme. Holmes, where ever did you learn such a silly martial art? No wonder it has been lost to time.” Said I, after a rather sore loss.

“I was under the impression you didn’t _enjoy_ being hit in the face and wished to improve your boxing form.”

“No, I most certainly do not want to be punched in the face. Nor do I want to be kicked, struck, wacked, stabbed, or any combination of the four!” Holmes laughed maliciously at my indignant statement. “In my face or anywhere else on my person for that matter.” I threw down my gloves and left promptly.

I refused to speak with him during formal hall and on until late that evening when he came in to my bedroom through the window that I was most certain I had locked prior to turning in for the night.

It was the dead of winter and Holmes was soaked from head to toe from the freezing rain. He stood shivering at my bedside. I sat up and turned on my lamp to get a good look of the sorrowful sight. The poor lad was chilled to the bone.

“Holmes, you fool, get in.” Said I. I slid back the covers and he quickly shed his clothes, leaving them in a pool beside my bed. Rather than start a fight in the early morning, I let him share my bed to recover his warmth.

I awoke the next morning expecting some sort of apology and instead found my bed empty with not so much as a note explaining where he had run off to or why he had come to my room in the middle of the night.

Over the course of three hours I came to terms with his odd apology and resolved to let him come to me on his own terms.

That day, our first assignments were returned and I received my first failing mark. Holmes was in bright spirits, laughing as he looked over his score.

“I just don’t understand.” Said I.

“Apparently.” Holmes snorted a laugh as he took a glance at my paper.

“This isn’t possible! Let me see yours.” I ripped the paper from his hands. “Sixty-nine!” Holmes let out a low and perverted laugh. “You nearly doubled my score. How is that possible? You never attend lecture and I hardly ever see you study that which does not interest you.”

“It is the basic principles of chemistry. How could you possibly fail to grasp the concepts of molecular orbital theory?”

“Tutor me.” I pleaded. “I need to at least pass my examinations.”

“No, I’ve learned my lesson in trying to teach you Bartitsu. You’re simply un-teachable.”

“You beat me with a stick and expected me to defend myself!”

“It is called self-defence for a reason and you failed to understand that concept as well. What hope do you have if I were to teach you chemistry?”

“You wouldn’t be beating me with a cane, for starters. Secondly, I know I can learn this. I only need someone to discuss my misconceptions with and check over my work.”

He agreed to hold tutoring sessions tri-weekly, on an experimental basis, and consequently my studies began to fall behind. Holmes had the most comfortable bedding, his duvet was made of satin and filled with goose down-feathers, and I found myself napping at his abode more often than not.

The man was also a fine connoisseur of vintage scotch and brandy. He transformed into an animate drunk and rambled on about this and that as he smoked up a storm with his brier-root pipe. He was quite the nicotine addict as was my father. Both constantly troubled me for a cigarette.

I started spending more nights drunk than I did sober and surprisingly my marks began to increase.

“I don’t understand it, Holmes. I hardly even studied and my marks have improved drastically.” Remarked I.

“Test anxiety. A test is nothing more than a measurement of how well you can take tests. It has nothing to do with the knowledge you’ve actually retained.” He said puffing away at his pipe.

“I can’t thank you enough.”

He merely chuckled in response and put out his pipe. “Come home with me for the short break.” Said he.

“My father-“

“I’ll have you back to Norfolk by Christmas morning.”

“What would I tell father?”

“That your good friend Holmes is stealing you away for the short break and in turn you’ll have me for the long vac.”

“You assume far too much.” I laughed.

“I assume nothing.” Said he, with a wry little smirk and a twinkle in his eye.

* * *

 Before I could step foot out of the cab I was greeted by one of Sherlock’s older brothers, Mycroft. He was a portly chap, roughly seven years Sherlock’s senior. He had a grandeur demeanour and a hooked nose that he kept tilted upwards to mask his double-chin. One could tell he led a sedentary life-style and was suffering from a yo-yoing weight problem on which he was currently on the upswing.

Sherlock had mentioned another brother, to which the estate now belonged, and under which his mother resided. It was a grand estate and anyone would be proud to own such a fine piece of land, only the Holmes’ were resentful. The eldest son had taken the larger of the two manors, leaving his mother with inadequate space to host her extravagant soirees.

Holmes informed me it was all she lived for since his father’s betrayal and untimely passing. Mummy Holmes surrounded herself in the company of near strangers to help ease her emotional torment.

Unfortunately she wasn’t there to greet me upon my arrival and Holmes refused to leave me alone with his brother for more than a minute’s time.

“Holmes tells me you work with the government.” Said I, attempting to strike up a conversation in the frighteningly quiet parlour.

“I occupy a minor position.” Said he, with a crooked grin, suggesting there was more to the story than I’d likely be told. I glanced to Holmes who looked to his brother who looked to me. The whole situation could be described with one word: _awkward_.

My first thought was Holmes rarely brought friends home with him, which was confirmed when Mycroft informed me, “Sherlock doesn’t generally bring home _friends_ for the short break. In fact, I do believe you are the first _friend_ he has ever brought home.” I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to exacerbate their sibling rivalry.

“Odd, I haven’t seen your fiancée. How is _she_? Your _fiancée?”_ Holmes asked in a dry, sardonic tone.

“We broke it off.” He responded nonchalantly. Mycroft took a sip of tea to hide his snarl. I bit back a smile at their silly feud. It reminded me of my dear sister and me. We had a similar age gap, she being ten years my senior.

My fondest memories of her are of us two fighting. I stole from her, she stole from me; it was all in good fun until fists began flying. She’d box my ears in until I wailed. I’d earn double punishment for hitting back. There was no winning with her as it was with the Holmes brothers.

Tea was interrupted by mummy Holmes who was every bit as dramatic as her sons. She glided across the floor and greeted her youngest son exuberantly, adorning his forehead with lipstick stained kisses. I stood to introduce myself.

“Victor Trevor, je suis enchantée de faire votre connaissance.” She offered her hand and out of the corner of my eye I saw Holmes and his brother roll both roll their eyes as a pressed a kiss to the lady’s bare knuckles. She smiled brightly at me.

_“It isn’t often we have a true gentleman in the house.” Said she, with rosy cheeks.  
_


	3. Chapter 3

_Sherlock Holmes:_

“What a gentleman.” John’s wife remarked as Trevor left to order our drinks. He beat John to the punch and pulled out John’s wife’s chair for her. How _chivalrous_ of him.

John and I had on the same expression as she prattled on about Trevor this and Trevor that. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off Trevor when he returned to take his seat next to me.

It wasn’t John’s intention to turn this reunion into a date which was evident by the way he was shifting uncomfortably in his seat, trying to avoid eye contact with Trevor and myself. He truly believed Trevor was an old friend from uni, looking to reconnect, and this get-together would somehow make me less depressed.

Some would say ‘At least he tries’. I on the other hand would prefer if John would stop trying to make my life more miserable with his acts of charity. He had gone too far and blind-sided me with Trevor. It appeared as if John and John’s wife had become fused into one person and I couldn’t tell where John’s treachery ended and her obtrusiveness began.

The first round of drinks came and I was more than eager to delete the evening’s proceedings with some cheap gin with a rum chaser.

John commented that he had never seen me drink so much. Trevor mentioned my drinking habits at uni and then by some chain of events I ended up under the table which was surprisingly clean on the underside.

I could always count on Trevor to have a good laugh at my antics while the newlyweds were positively abhorred by my behaviour.

“Sherlock, get out from under there, you’re making a scene.” Either John or John’s wife chided and tapped on my shoulder with their foot. It wasn’t long after, I was ejected from the eating establishment. Trevor half walked, half carried me home, laughing all the way.

“You haven’t changed a bit.” He remarked as he put me to bed. I morphed into sort of a cephalopod in my drunken state and tried to drag Trevor into the bed with me, entangling him in my long limbs. I latched on to his neck and left quite a mark.

Fortunately things didn’t go much further than some heavy petting and light nibbling.

I woke up without any side-effects from the night’s over-indulgence, only to find I was still very much inebriated. I relieved myself, rehydrated my vessels, and counter-acted the toxic effects of acetaldehyde with some paracetamol.

I found Trevor asleep on my sofa. “Dost thine chivalry know no bounds?” I asked stumbling into John’s chair in the dim light.

“Holmes, you’re a madman.” Trevor chuckled, still half-asleep. I looked outside to see the dim sun rising which was contrasted by flashing blue lights.

“Murder.” I groaned feeling the full effects of my nights debauchery hit all at once.

“What?” Trevor asked as he sat up. The front door opened without a creek.

“You left the front door unlocked.” I rubbed my forehead and prayed it would all be over soon. “Lestrade, it’s five in the morning on a Saturday. Whoever is dead will most likely still be dead at seven in the morning.” I said as the Detective Inspector made his way up into the flat.

“Oh.” Was all he said when he flipped on the lights and caught first sight of Trevor, his neck, and my eyes. “Some-“

“Don’t.”

“Night.” He finished. “Need your help.” He said sheepishly.

“Oh, really? I thought this was social call.”

“Sherlock, would you just have a look? I’m at my wit’s end.”

“When are you-“

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Sea-sponge, amoeba, obligate parasite, not an iota of intelligence. I’m a snivelling worm, now help.” He said brusquely as he nudged my hand with the file. I gave the photograph a quick glance, closed the folder, and returned it to him. “It’s the fifth case this month of an overweight male dropping dead in his home. All of em, coated in these spots. This one was found in his garden in a pool of blood; only wound we found was on his right hand, barely more than a scratch. Can’t possibly account for how much blood there was at the scene.

“Were they all diabetic?” Lestrade frantically searched his notes. “Had they all recently taken their insulin before ‘dropping dead’?”

“Hold on.”

“Ask the wives for their insulin vials, they’ve been laced with arsenic.”

“Yeah... right... I’ll look into that then.” His eyes darted towards Trevor. Both of them were looking for an introduction so I promptly escorted Lestrade to the landing, shut the door, and locked the dead-bolt.

“Breakfast?”


	4. Chapter 4

  _Victor Trevor:_

It took one look at the breakfast table to see why Mycroft was such a well-rounded fellow. I had never seen so many types of hand-made pastries in my life.

“Who else is joining us for breakfast?” I asked Holmes who began snickering. He sat beside me as I ate. He had very little interest in simple things, like simple carbohydrates.

“Trevor, what would you say to stroll around the estate?” Asked he. I could just barely make out Mycroft mocking him under his breath.

“I would love a tour.” Said I.

“Good, let’s.” He briskly whisked me away from the table, out the door, and onto the veranda. Set in the middle of the garden was an oversized swimming pool with three pool chairs set beside it. I walked around it cautiously and Holmes took note.

“Can’t swim?” He asked with a devilish grin.

I looked down into the clear water. Steam rose from the water’s edge in thick wisps. I could feel the wet heat rising from it. I felt a slight panic gazing down into the water’s depth, it appeared never ending.

“I can teach you.” He placed his hands behind his back and strolled over to the water’s edge to look down at its depths with me.

“How?” I asked with a shuddered breath.

“The same way my brother taught me and the same way my father taught him.”

Before I could express my opinion on the matter, Holmes gave me a good two handed shove which sent me toppling over the water’s edge. I quickly found myself six feet underwater with nowhere to go but up. I launched off the bottom of the pool and breached the surface, only to bob under again.

I sunk down to the bottom and pushed off once more. I could see the pool’s edge, just out of reach. I flailed sporadically trying to reach out for my saving grace.

When my hand made contact with the pool’s edge, I let out a gasp of air as I surfaced once more. I desperately filled my lungs with precious oxygen. They were the most satisfying breaths I have ever taken in my life.

The first thing I heard was Holmes’ roaring laughter. He was doubled over in pain from his laughing fit. I cursed him; I cursed his whole family, and everything they stood for.

Mycroft came to my rescue. He scolded his brother for being so callous. While he was bent over the swimming pool, lending me a hand, Holmes pressed his shoe to his brother’s backside and gave him a gentle shove, sending him head first into the water.

Fortunately, Mycroft was a much better swimmer and was able to resurface without a problem.

“Sherlock, _grow-up._ ” Mycroft hissed, wiping the water from his face and smoothing out his hair.

“My apologies, brother-dear. Have a towel.” Said he. Holmes threw the fresh towel into the water and laughed as Mycroft glowered at him.

Holmes leaned over the water’s edge and held out a hand. I gripped his hand firmly and he liberated me from the water, bringing me out into the frigid air.

“Towel.” I begged as I shivered from head to toe. Holmes looked at the bottom of the pool where he had thrown the only dry towel.

He led me inside by my shoulders; by the time we reached the door my extremities were numb.

“Sherly-dear, what happened?” Mummy Holmes asked the moment she laid eyes on me.

“I fell in.” I said with a staggered breath. “Pardon me while I go put on some fresh clothes.”

I had just regained feeling in my fingertips and was packing my things to return home when Holmes entered my room. “My train arrives shortly; I’d appreciate your help out to the car.” Said I, not daring to look him in the eye. “You know, some sort of apology would be welcome.”

He took two steps forward and I turned to stand toe to toe with the man, expecting a fight. Instead, he gripped me firmly by both sides of my face and crushed our lips together.

When he let go, I regained my composure, shut my suitcase, and left without looking back.


	5. Chapter 5

_Sherlock Holmes:_

I left Baker Street in a hurry, looking back every so often to see if my stalker was still following me.

“Sherlock!” John shouted from across the street. “We need to talk! Sherlock!”

My legs broke out into a full sprint, as did his, and surprisingly the good doctor was able to keep up with me. Was I really that out of shape?

I led him down several narrow and winding alleyways and finally came upon John Watson’s kryptonite, an iron barred fence.

I cleared the fence with ease and John followed shortly after. He was gaining on me rapidly. How was that possible? What had his wife been feeding him? I decided to change tactics and started chasing him, which admittedly, wasn’t my brightest idea, but remained effective for the first ten feet or so before John came to his senses.

He stopped to catch his breath and clutched on to the fence. “Sherlock, we need to talk.”

“No.” I climbed on to the bin that was conveniently placed next to the fence. “We don’t.” I said with a smile as I hopped over to the other side.

With nowhere better to be I decided I fancied a stroll through Regent’s park. I came upon the tennis centre where Trevor was practicing with his colleagues. I hid in plain sight, watching the match without much interest, but still, I was caught off guard when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“John, do me a favour, and kindly bugger...” I turned to find the man lurking in my shadow was none other than my favourite arch enemy. “Off.” I finished.

“Sherlock, a word.”

“That was three.” I said turning to leave. Trevor exited the courts at the most inopportune time, towelling off his hands.

“Holmes!” He said warmly. “I haven’t seen you in a fortnight, where have-“ He looked right at Mycroft and I couldn’t help but let my inward groan turn outward. “That cannot be. Mycroft? Mycroft Holmes?”

“Like there are any other Mycrofts in the London area.” I said with a disdainful scoff as Trevor rushed to greet my brother.

I made my hasty retreat the moment he uttered the words, “You look amazing.” I had no desire to stick around and observe Trevor’s sycophancy towards my brother.

I returned to 221-B a defeated man.

* * *

_Victor Trevor:_

I returned to Norfolk a defeated man. I hadn’t a clue what to make of Holmes’ advances.

He had shoved me into a swimming pool, knowing full well I couldn’t swim, and proceeded to kiss me as an apology. He was mad, absolutely mad. I wasn’t apt to forget he had once beaten me with a wooden cane and apologised to me by crawling into my bed half-naked and soaking wet.

I spent the remainder of the short break with my father who was grateful to have me home, yet troubled over why I chose to come home so soon.

“No hard feelings between the two of you, I hope.” He said as we ate supper together in dining room.

“Oh, God I hope not.” I said with a slight laugh. I really didn’t want to imagine Sherlock Holmes being sexually attracted to me or to anyone for that matter. I was so plain and dull it was impossible to think Holmes would find anything about my person remotely alluring.

Then again, the thought of anyone else being attracted to Holmes made me envious for reasons I could not quite rationalize. He was my friend after all, if he were to find that special someone, it wouldn’t be my place to intrude.

I turned in for the night and cast all the Holmes’ out of my conscious thought before I lay my head on my pillow. I could still taste his lips on mine, even though the kiss only took up a fleeting moment.

I awoke in the middle of the night, painfully aroused. In my delirium all I could think of was young Holmes and it only made me ache more for his tender lips.

I had never been romantically involved with anyone, never been touched, or kissed. Why did it have to be him?

I had always liked Holmes, but as a friend. Surely I was fond of him, but again, as a _friend_. It wasn’t that he wasn’t attractive; he was. It wasn’t that he didn’t pique my interest; he did.

I just didn’t want to lose my only friend at Oxford to something foolish. _  
_


	6. Chapter 6

_Sherlock Holmes:_

I was a fool to believe Mycroft wouldn’t find out about Trevor’s return. I could rest assured that Mycroft’s intentions were pure. _Pure evil._

John sent me at least two dozen texts along with half a dozen phone calls while I lay in my bed, intent on dying of lethargy. It didn’t surprise me when Mrs Hudson came trudging up the stairs, sent up to do John’s bidding.

“Yoo-hoo.” She said with a knock on my open door. “Sherlock.” She said with such sweetness I felt a stabbing pain in my back molars.

“I’ll switch sides every few hours or so to prevent bed-sores. No need to worry about me. I’ll be fine.” I switched sides and drew the covers over my shoulders.

“Why don’t you go out, get yourself some fresh air?”

“I tried.” I mumbled.

“You could go out with your fr-“

“No!” I groaned as I pulled a pillow over my head to drown out her words.

“You didn’t-“

“No! Whomever you’re proposing I go out with, no!” I shouted from under the pillow.

“Fine, be miserable for all I care.”

“God, thank you!” I said removing the pillow. “Well, then, off you pop. Misery needs no company.”

“Misery loves company.” She corrected.

“That would explain your frequent and unwarranted visits.”

“Oh, you!” She shook with unbridled rage and left in a huff only to have Lestrade take her place.

“It isn’t cyanide.” He said handing me the tox-screen which I promptly passed back to him.

“I said arsenic.”

“Ain’t arsenic neither.”

I groaned at both his diagnoses and butchery of the English language. “What was it then?”

“That’s why I’ve come to you!”

“To the morgue?”

“Bat-mobile’s downstairs, I assume you’re taking a cab.”

“You should never assume.”

“So you’re coming with me then?”

“No, I’m merely suggesting that you should never assume.” I said with a languid stretch.

* * *

_Victor Trevor:_

I should have never assumed anything with Holmes would be straight-forward. I returned from the short break in high spirits, with the resolution to continue my friendship with him and forget all about the kiss we had shared.

I kept my hopes high although Holmes refused to speak a word to me. I apologised profusely for leaving him in such a manner. I expressed my interest in remaining friends in spite of the circumstances; yet he continued to ignore me.

He chose to become pals with Sebastian Wilkes and dined with him and his sad excuse for friends. Well two _could_ play at that game. And I very well would have if someone would have invited me to sit with them.

Instead, I took to moping about my room. Mourning a friendship lost. I started spending my spare time with my great aunt and her poodle. While she reminisced about her days of yore, I thought back to my days with Holmes, before the fighting began; when I could spend countless lazy afternoons wrapped up in his down comforter.

Perhaps I was more interested in Holmes’ accommodations than anything else. I felt right at home with his mock chemistry lab. He could set up the most elaborate distillations that spanned the entire room from wall to wall and floor to ceiling. They were the most brilliant contraptions and very practical.

By using an inclined plane and utilizing the varying condensation temperatures of the end products, he was able to collect several different distillates in one go with an amazing yield, thus eliminating the need to run a chromatography column.

Holmes worked to craft his own catalyst and had succeeded in making stink bombs, explosives, and a cure for plantar warts in his search. Unfortunately, he had maimed himself on several occasions as well. Cuts, burns, and abrasions were commonplace for Holmes. I told him he needed a live-in doctor with the way he went about injuring himself on a regular basis.

I couldn’t take not being on speaking terms with my best friend, or rather my _only_ friend. So, I gathered my courage and waited to get him alone.

I had never known Sherlock Holmes to be a social butterfly, but he was spending quite a lot of time with Wilkes and his chums. He seemed to always be surrounded by other people.

I could tell he was miserable; he had on that face, the one he donned when someone was boring him to tears. He really didn’t do much to mask the fact that his new found friends were nothing more than an entourage. 

I waited for what felt like ages, until one day I spotted him alone, coming back from the cricket field. I went to shout his name but froze as he came closer. I’d never seen him in cricket whites before. My mind blanked, I went into a panic, I couldn’t even remember my own name, my throat felt like sandpaper, and my feet began to sweat. It was the most curious case of symptoms; I was convinced I was going to drop dead of cardiac arrest.

“Trevor.” Said he, as he passed me by.

I waited all that time, followed him like a lost puppy, and he left me in his wake, again. I wasn’t going to stand for it. I turned on my heels and chased him down.

“Holmes, I’d like a word.”

“That was five.” Remarked he. “Six if you count the contraction.”

“I’m fully aware what I did was wrong, shameful even. I don’t blame you for being cross. There is no excuse for the torment I must have put you through.”

Holmes stopped abruptly, turned, and laughed in my face. “Torment?”

“I can only hope that in time you will come to forgive me.”

“Torment?” Repeated he. He seemed to be in a state of disbelief.

“I only assumed-“

Holmes scoffed. “You _assumed_?”

I began wringing my hands in worry. “You’re right. I’m more sorry for the torment I’ve caused myself. I didn’t mean to leave so abruptly. I just didn’t know how I was supposed to feel.” Holmes regarded me for a moment before turning and letting out a puff of air as he walked away.

I felt faint, watching him walk away. I felt my heart palpitate and I stumbled over my feet as I began walking back to my accommodations. The more I entertained the idea of kissing Holmes again, the more my breathing became restricted.

I lay in my bed for hours just thinking about Holmes, daydreaming. I let my mind run wild with thoughts of Holmes’ muscular form in those cricket flannels.

I had seen Michelangelo’s David in person. My initial reaction to the marble-man was very similar to my reaction seeing Holmes in a pair of cricket whites. I was in awe of the sculpture’s unspeakable beauty but unable to keep my eyes off his groin. However, unlike Holmes, the thought Michelangelo’s David wasn’t at all sexually appealing to me.

I let my thoughts travel a bit too far and found it very difficult to bring myself back down.

There came a knock at my door and I rapidly tried to conceal myself by diving under the covers. I heard the lock’s tumblers click and Holmes entered shortly after. My face must have been terribly flushed. I felt my heart racing a mile a minute.

“Have you reconsidered my offer?” I asked, short of breath.

“Which was?” He asked as he took a seat on my bedside.

“I-I don’t know.” I stammered, feeling his hand accidentally brush against mine. His gaze was relentless. I had to turn away to hide the shame in my face.

I swallowed hard and took in a deep breath. “Have you come for anything in particular?”

He merely chuckled in response. I felt the heat rise as he leaned in closer. He gripped my hand in his and yanked it roughly, placing my palm on his crotch.

It felt like a shot of electricity cracked through my veins like a whip. I withdrew my hand and gave him a look of wide-eyed horror. He stood up on to his knees, reached for the bed-sheets, and tried to pull them back. I held on to the sheets for dear life.

“Get out!” I shrieked. Holmes sat back on to his heels and gave me an impish grin. “God, at least let me have a moment to sort myself out. I can’t think straight!”

“I’ll say.” He said with a low and malicious laugh.

“Give me time to think it over!”

“You have had plenty of time. Every day without me was absolute torture. You said so yourself.”

“I said nothing of the sort.”

“Well then I was sadly mistaken and I do apologise.” If looks could kill, Holmes would have been indicted for my untimely death.

“I’m-“ Was all I could say before the door slammed shut and I was left with my thoughts.


	7. Chapter 7

_Sherlock Holmes:_

“Any thoughts?” Lestrade paced the floor, nosily chewing on his thumb-nail; he’d obviously had a row with his younger girlfriend, quite possibly about him coming home late every night that week.

“Yes.” I had about half a million thoughts racing through my mind, changing lanes, some without indicating, causing a massive thought pile-up; needless to say things were moving slow.

“Any about the case?” Lestrade placed his hands on his hips and waited for a response.

“You should probably break up with your girlfriend. She’s far too young for you.”

“What does-“

“You’ve picked up smoking again, a pot of coffee a day, three hours of sleep. She’s too young to understand the time and dedication it takes to be a detective inspector.” I neglected to mention his ex-wife also had a similar problem with his late hours and turned to his daughter’s PE teacher for ‘comfort’.

“Could we not talk about my personal life?”

“It’s interfering with your work, inspector. This case should have been solved a month ago.”

“Right, and you’ve been such help of late.”

“Must you come running to me for everything?”

“Are you not a _consulting_ detective?”

I disregarded him as I gave my diagnoses. “All possible infections and likely toxins have been ruled out. Four of the five men were insulin dependent. Two on insulin pumps, two on injections. Their diagnoses weren’t recent; therefore, they already had irreversible damage. However man number five is different. He wasn’t diabetic. So why is he on the slab with the rest of the victims?”

“Cos... he’s covered in spots? Overweight-“

“And epileptic.” The pieces began to fall into place.

“What’s-“

“Think! For once just think. What ties these men together?”

“The spots?”

“No, no.” I was getting nowhere fast. John would have had it by now. I was drawing it out for far too long. “Epileptic, diabetic neuropathy, fibromyalgia, neuralgia, neuropathic pain.” I said as I pointed to each of the bodies laid out before us. “All five men were taking the same drug, but it wasn’t insulin.”

“Wh-“

“Pregabalin. Each of them received a toxic dose, causing their platelet count to plummet, evident by the petechial haemorrhaging or ‘spots’ coating the men’s bodies.  The men died of complications from thrombocytopenia. Two of stroke, one of intestinal bleeding, another of a myocardial infarction, and the last bled out when he cut his hand gardening.”

“So we’re looking at a case of negligence here.”

“Did their insulin come from the same pharmacy?”

“Yeah.”

“Then suffice it to say, the pregabalin did as well.”

I silence fell on the cold room and Lestrade shifted uncomfortably. “How’s things with-“

“Shut up.” I turned up my coat collar, to protect against the chill of the air conditioning unit pointed directly at the door, as I made my leave.

“What? You can discuss my private life but anyone tries n’ brings up that boy you’re with-“

“I’m not with anyone.” I corrected. “Don’t you have paper-work you should be doing?” I said, waving my hand to dismiss him.

“I always have paper-work that needs doing. So what’s the story between you two?” Lestrade continued to pry into my private affairs as he escorted me out of the building. “I for one, think it’s great you’ve found someone.”

“I haven’t _found_ anyone.”

“Seems like a nice enough bloke.” He said with a diffident shrug.

“We are not having this conversation.”

“What does John think?”

“What does it matter what John thinks?”

“Whole lot.” Lestrade stopped mid-stride. “At least, it _did_ matter a whole lot, to you.”

“John doesn’t need to think or form his own opinions anymore, why bother when he has Mary to do it for him?”

“Just cos he’s married doesn’t mean he can’t still be your best friend.”

“That’s precisely what it means.”

“Well... unless he was like... you know...” Lestrade looked to me for clarification. “Was he?”

“Was he what?”

“I mean, did you two ever?” He cleared his throat into his hand. “You know?”

“No.”

“Did you ever want-“

“No. Have you ever had at it with Sergeant Donovan?”

“God, no.” He said with a look of utter repulsion.

“Why not? She’s your co-worker, a friend; it isn’t a far leap to sexual partner from there.”

“It’s a huge leap! What are you going on about?”

“John Watson is a colleague and a friend; nothing more.”

“Think I’ve got the point.” With my mission accomplished, I turned to leave. “He’s the one that wanted it and you’re the one that went and refused em.”

* * *

_Victor Trevor:_

“I’m not refusing your... proposal.” Said I, with quite some difficulty. “I only want to take it slowly. I’ve never been in a relationship before. I hope you can understand my apprehensions. What do you think?” My great aunt’s poodle gave my hand a nudge. I opened up my palm and she gobbled up her treat. “He’ll never go for it old girl.” I gave her a scratch behind her ears. “Perhaps you could lock on to his ankle once more? Put him off his pursuit?” I let out a defeated sigh. “It isn’t that I don’t want-“ I was cut off mid-sentence by the sound of clinking tea cups behind me. I shot up off the sofa and turned to see my great aunt’s butler, Mr Grant, clearing the tea tray. “Sorry, I didn’t notice you there.”

“It’s no problem.” My great aunt’s butler didn’t seem the type to sympathize with my predicament. I sat back down and waited for my aunt to return. I could see him looking at me out of the corner of my eye.

“You musn’t say anything.” I pleaded after a gruelling minute of silence.

“I have no intention of turning you in.” He said gathering his things to leave. “Though, I cannot speak for her ladyship.” He said looking to my aunt’s poodle with a fond smile and a chuckle.

“Oh, yes... quite.” I said with a nervous laugh. My great aunt returned with the letter from my father.

“Sorry it took me so long. The maid moved it when she was cleaning the study. You just can’t find good help these days.”

“I’m certain it wasn’t her intention to bemuse you.”

“You are far too kind, Victor. I should have the old woman sacked.”

“Whatever for?” I asked in disbelief. “You’ve only just replaced the last one.”

“And this one is just the same.” She said with worried eyes and shaking hands.

“Don’t tell me you believe this one is stealing from you as well.” I opened the letter and ignored her as she told me for the tenth time about the last maid that was breaking into the house early in the morning and nicking her medicine right off her nightstand while she was asleep in bed.

“Well?” Asked she, after what she believed was an unbearably long silence.

“Oh.” I said, looking up from the letter. “Says he’s organizing a hunt.”

“A hunt?”

“Yes.” Said I, folding the letter to place it back in the envelope.

“We’re in the twentieth century, why would your father feel the need to organize a hunt?”

“Tradition I suppose. He didn’t give a reason.”

“And he couldn’t pick up the telephone and give us a call? Your father is stuck in a past he never lived through.” She chuckled.

“You know how he fears turn of the century technology.”

“It’s that Mr Beddoes doing. He’s a terrible influence on your father.”

“How do you mean?” Asked I.

“Ever since your mother’s untimely passing, he’s been cooped up in that manor house. He won’t even come out to Oxford to visit his only son on the weekend.”

“My father is a busy man.”

“Too busy to see his own son?”

“Perhaps.” I said fiddling with my thumbs. “I could have chosen to attend uni much closer to home. In Norwich even. It would have saved me loads of trouble.” I thought twice about what I’d just said. “With papa, that is.” I said with a cough.

“Oh, Victor, your father is very proud of you. Don’t ever think he isn’t.”

“I don’t.”

“Then what is it?” She leaned forward in her chair to have a better listen. “You aren’t behind in your studies again, are you?”

“No, no, it isn’t that.”

“It’s a girl, isn’t it?”

“Of sorts.” I said turning a bright shade of red.

“Ah, yes, young Victor has finally found true love.”

“Auntie Eugenia!” I shouted with an indignant squeak.

“What is she like? Your girlfriend?”

“She isn’t my girlfriend!” I must have been blushing about a hundred shades of red; I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.

“But you would like her to be?”

“Well yes, but-“

“Then be forward with her! Not all women are mind readers like your dear-aunt.”

“She’s not like that at all.” I put my face in my hands to hide my shame. I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation with her. “Can’t we just mark me down as a lost cause?”


	8. Chapter 8

_Sherlock Holmes:_

“Are you lost?”

“Very funny, Sherlock. Now let me in.” John pushed his way into the reception room and went straight for his chair. He went to take a seat and winced.

“I see you are having very little reproductive success.”

“Not why I’m here.” He said shortly.

“It’s for the best, I’m sure. Middle-aged women aren’t meant to bear children.” I set the kettle to boil and left to change into my evening wear. I returned to find John scrubbing his face with his hands.

“Do you know why I came here, Sherlock?” He asked placing his hands on his lap.

“To escape the slave-driver and the vicious buzzards she calls friends?” 

“That’s not why I’m here.”

“Sure it is. They drove you out of the house; after you spent the whole afternoon preparing for their arrival.”

“I chose to come here.”

“Well, it was either here or the pub. I’m glad I still take precedence over a stiff drink.” I said with sincerity.

“Can’t we hang-out like before; without all this fighting?”

“You no longer live here; I don’t see the purpose of ‘hanging out’.”  

“You could ask Victor if he’d like the room upstairs.” I gritted my teeth in response. “I know you two aren’t... that way... it was only a suggestion.” John scratched at his upper lip. “Have you seen him lately?”

“No.” I felt my spirits sink after admitting it.

“We could all go out for drinks together, sometime. Or stay in, if you’d like.” He said with what he believed to be an encouraging grin.

“Why did he contact you?” I took a seat in my chair to look him in straight in the eye. “Intially.”

“He wanted to see you in person but said he knew you’d come up with all sorts of excuses to avoid him.” John tapped the arm of his chair. “Like you have been.”

“So you’ve become dear friends with Trevor, then? Is that what this is about?” It was just like John to play ambassador for a man he hardly knew.

“He says he was only saying hi to Mycroft; it’s been years since he’s seen him.”

“What else has Trevor told you?”

“That it was his great aunt’s _poodle_ that bit your ankle, not a bull terrier.” He chuckled.

“Poodle, terrier, the breed is insignificant.”

John just smiled and shook his head. “Did you make any progress with the spotty senior citizens?”

“Oh, God.” I groaned. I placed a hand over my mouth to mask my smile and ended up snorting out a laugh. We both burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

After we recovered from our mirth and fixed tea, we returned to the sombre subject of Trevor.

“What about it? Drinks. Just us three.” John was adamant about having drinks with the man without his wife’s overbearing presence in the room. This could only mean he was looking to do his own interrogations under false pretences.

I let out a groan of discontent. “I just haven’t got the time.”

“What could you be doing that’s so important? All I’m asking for is one night.”

“And in exchange?”

“You’ll have a good time?” He suggested.

“I need an assistant.”

“Alright.” He said firmly.

“But what will _Mary_ say?”

“A lot of things; some not so nice.” He put his cup down. “So you’ll do it then?”

“It appears as if I have no other choice.”

* * *

_Victor Trevor:_

“I suppose you leave me with no other choice.” I told Holmes as he prepared himself for dinner. “I will have to decline your offer.”

“It would take all of fifteen minutes; then it would be over and done with.” He tugged at his bow-tie and made such a face in the mirror, you’d swear he was being forced into the suit at gun point. “We could move on with our lives then. Isn’t that what you want?” He turned to me with his tie undone.

“I want quite the opposite, actually.” I said bashfully.

“I don’t see why you have to make it so difficult.” He tugged at his sleeves, feebly trying to keep them below his wrists. “I could just find another lad willing to give it a try.”

“How many boys do you know that would willingly let you experiment on them, like I would?”

“It’s a matter of finding the _right_ boy.” Holmes fiddled with his bow-tie until it became too unbearable for me to watch.

“Here, let me give you a hand.”

“I don’t need your help.” He snarled.

“And you wonder why you don’t have friends.” I reached out for his loose tie and I was pleasantly surprised when he didn’t snap at me.

“I don’t wonder anything.” He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists as I helped tie his bow-tie and straightened it out for him. “Thank you.” He said spitefully.

“You are so hateful, why? What has the world ever done to you?” I said, as soft as silk. “You have everything a man could ever want.” I brushed the imaginary lint off his lapels.

“That’s not true.” He stopped my hand with his and held it firmly.

“Changing tactics now, are we?” I couldn’t help but be smug.

“Let’s forget dinner.” He said with an alluring smile and a deep voice.

“We’re already committed. My auntie would kill me if I missed out on a chance to dine with the Dean. And like it or not, you’re one of the top five students in our class. I’m only invited because it’s my aunt that’s hosting the event.”

Holmes brought my hand to his lips. He placed a kiss on the back of my hand. “I understand if you must go.” He even had the audacity to bat his eyelashes at me, the cheeky devil.

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re not getting out of this easy.”

Holmes let go and stormed over to his desk. He snatched a vial off the top of his textbook and opened it. “I’ll drink it.” He threatened.

“What is it?”

“Ipecac.”

“Surely you can’t be serious. It’s just dinner; you have nothing to worry about.”

Apparently Holmes’ fears were indeed warranted. Her ladyship (the poodle) still had a score to settle with dear Holmes. The two had obviously gotten off on the wrong foot, or in this case, the wrong ankle. I had never seen the old girl so worked up about a stranger coming in to her home. The maid had to lock her away in the cellar to keep her from lunging at Holmes’ other ankle to even the score.

My great aunt was in a panic as it was, trying to do the butler’s job of supervising her staff. Father and I never had round the clock staff like my aunt did. It was odd being waited on, hand and foot. Often I’d forget and open doors for myself or try and serve myself.

We gathered in the reception room for small-talk and champagne. Holmes looked onward, contemplatively, sitting on the sofa with the side of his head resting against his fist. He looked as if he could keel over at any moment from boredom.

“Do try and enjoy yourself.” I said taking the seat next to him.

“You’re lucky I came at all, let’s not push it.” Said he, taking a rather long sip of champagne.

“Go easy on it.”

“Might make the evening more interesting.” He lifted a suggestive brow and finished off his drink. He left to use the facilities and returned to down another drink.

Holmes’ spirits brightened exponentially. He couldn’t look at me without bursting into a fit of laughter.

“Holmes, I do believe you’ve overdone it.”

“Join me.” He struggled to hold back his laughter. “It’s a heightened state of being.” He sputtered a laugh.

At the dinner table Holmes spoke exuberantly about proteolytic enzymes and auto-amplification to the Dean. He was speaking a mile a minute and flooring the Dean with his extensive knowledge of biochemistry. I was left in shock; I hadn’t even touched my first course when it was taken away. I had never seen Holmes so social. He was able to hold a conversation with several of the lads at the table without coming off as rude or overbearing.

It was like an otherworldly experience. Who was this man sitting next to me? Alcohol had never had this effect on him before. I couldn’t believe no one else was noticing the drastic change.

He laughed heartily at the Dean’s pathetic jokes and schmoozed like the best of them. He even ate his dinner like a normal human-being.

I couldn’t take another moment of it. When dinner concluded I approached Holmes as he was leaving the Gent’s room.

“What are you trying to pull?” I was very concerned with his body language. He looked like a cornered animal. He stared at me in wide-eyed fear. I reached out for his hand which felt damp with sweat. His pulse was racing and his skin was flush and warm. “Are you all right?”

“Take me home.” He said moping the sweat off his brow. “I feel as if I’m coming down with something.”

“Of course.” Said I, offering my arm for support. Holmes stumbled in to me. “Do you need to have a lie down?”

“I’m fine, it’s fine, s’all fine.” He blinked slowly and opened his eyes wide. His breathing became laboured and I began to worry.

“Are you sure you can make it? I can have my aunt call a cab.”

“Yes, that would be for the best.” Holmes took a seat next to the front door and cradled his head in his hands.

“You look dreadful.”

“M’fine.” He sniffled and pressed the back of his hand to his nose. He pulled his hand away to reveal a spot of blood.

I must have fainted because the next thing I knew, I was lying on the sofa being fanned by the Dean. I sat straight up and began inquiring about Holmes. Mr Grant brought a wet cloth and applied it to my forehead.

“Poor boy, he was looking a bit pale at dinner.” My aunt fretted.

“Yes, the flu is particularly virulent this season.” The Dean said with a heavy sigh. “I hate to see it bring down the youth. Nothing is worse than being ill and far from home.”

“The poor dear.” My aunt continued to pace the floor, worriedly biting at her lip. “Do you believe we should have sent him to hospital?”

“No. Bed-rest is best.” The Dean said with a soft grin. “He’s young, he’ll bounce right back.”

It felt as if I was invisible, the two completely ignored me and continued to discuss Sherlock Holmes in my presence. I closed my eyes and wished myself out of existence.


	9. Chapter 9

_Sherlock Holmes:_

I had only closed my eyes for a moment when Trevor appeared before me. John left the table to order another round of drinks.

“I am so sorry I’m late, I was-“ I held up a hand to stop Trevor before he made a fool of himself.

“There’s no need.”

Trevor took his seat and tried to put on a brave face.

“No.” I answered him.

“I... didn’t say anything.” He said with a concerned look.

“Oh God, don’t start.” I pushed the empty glass towards him. “Have it analysed if you’d like.”

“I trust you.” He said solemnly. He ran his finger around the lip of the glass.

“He isn’t what you think he is.”

Trevor looked up to meet my gaze. “Isn’t he?”

John returned with enough alcohol to mitigate the growing tension.

“So.” John said with what he believed was a comforting grin. “Te-“

“Tell me about yourself, Dr Watson. Holmes says you were once an army doctor, is that right?” I caught the corner of Trevor’s lip tug into a smug grin. That wry devil. I laughed to myself.

I had forgotten how perceptive the man was. He wasn’t about to take it lying down. It only boosted my confidence.

I drank in earnest, feeling my worries melt away. Something about Trevor just made me want to drink; it was the most curious response. I intended to investigate it further, in private of course.

Every time John tried to turn the conversation on Trevor, he turned it right back at him. John wasn’t about to give in either. I settled in my seat to watch the match and felt a foot brush up against mine. I looked up at Trevor who was pretending not to notice that I had noticed and was doing a poor job of it.

I tongued the back of my cheek in thought. I was willing to press my luck, if only to take the arrogant look off his face.

I stretched out just enough to tap the toe of my right shoe on his ankle. A glance in my direction, minimal distraction from his conversation; time to up the ante. I slowly slid my foot up his ankle. His attention wavered; I could see his focus waning.

I continued softly stroking his ankle with my foot and watched as he became desensitised to the stimulus. I brought up the bottom of his trouser’s leg and when our two bare ankles met, Trevor jolted.

His hand darted to his pocket. “Sorry, my phone...” He said weakly. I couldn’t contain myself. I chuckled as he excused himself to answer the imaginary call.

“Having fun?” John asked with a wry grin as he took a sip of his drink.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I said defensively.

“You’ve been staring at Victor, unblinkingly, for the past ten minutes.” John could be an absolute know-it-all at times, when he hadn’t the slightest idea of my true intentions.

“You believe you’re so clever.” I pointed out.

“No. Not at all.” He said with a smile. “Even an idiot could tell you were flirting under the table.”

“I was not _flirting._ God, what do you think I am? I would never _flirt_.”

“Should I leave you two alone?”

“Yes, by all means, leave. Good riddance.” I said brusquely.

“Fine.” He said with a chuckle as he stood up to leave.

“John, stay.” I said after giving it a second thought.

“No, go on. Here, remember to close the tab when you’re done.” John reached for his wallet.

“Just, _go._ ” I gave him my best death glare but he still left me all alone. John stopped Trevor on his way out and bid him farewell.

From what I could see, John said something along the lines of, _“Make sure he gets home safe.”_

And Trevor responded, _“Of course, it was lovely seeing you again. We’ll have to do this sort of thing more often.”_

I leaned back in my chair, sinking in slowly.

“Well?” Trevor asked as he took his seat once more.

“Ready to call it a night?”

“I think I am.”

 

* * *

_Victor Trevor:_

“I think I am losing my mind.” Said I. “Why would I ever willingly subject myself to electric shock?”

“Just sit still and breathe slowly.” Holmes pulled out a long thin needle and I began to sweat.

“You’re not going to-“

“Just relax.” He said, turning on the machine. My forelimb was entirely numb up to the elbow. “Try not to move.” I looked at the ceiling as he sunk the hopefully sterile needle into my arm. “Feel anything?”

“No.” I bit at my lip in worry.

“Look down.”

“Not with that needle in there.”

“You’ll want to see this.” He said it in such a tone I was worried. I looked down in horror. The probe was sticking out of my arm and my hand was twitching involuntarily, slowly the twitching began increasing in magnitude. “It’s a good thing it has been anesthetised, otherwise this would be unimaginably painful.”

“What is it doing?”

“Providing spatial and temporal summation, allowing for the stacking of action potentials during the relative refractory period, without allowing the nerves to fully repolarise.”

The spasms grew increasingly more violent until my hand seized. “Is it dead?”

“Tetanus.” Sherlock applied pressure with a bandage, removed the probe, and my hand remained tensed. He opened the drawer of his desk and withdrew a small vial and syringe.

“What’s that?”

“Diazepam, used as a muscle relaxant. More commonly known as Valium.”

“Are you sure that’s the proper dose?” I asked as he withdrew a syringe full.

“You’ll let me anesthetise your arm and yet you’re afraid of a little Valium?”

Holmes removed the tourniquet from my upper arm and administered the Valium.

“How long until it takes effect?” I felt my eyelids grow heavy almost immediately. I allowed Holmes to put me to bed. I wrapped myself in his down-comforter and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

I woke up dizzy and disoriented, batting a hand off my crotch. Holmes pressed his lips to the nape of my neck and curled up closer behind me.

“No.” Said I, in a monotone protest. His hand venture up my shirt and to my chest. His breath was heavy and moist, creeping down my neck; making my hairs stand on end. I kept nodding off and waking up to try pry Holmes off of me.

“I’d never do it, you know? Not like this.” Said he. “You just feel... so amazing. It’s as if I can’t help myself.” His hand ran down my inner thigh and back up again. I felt my eyes roll upward.

It was only a matter of time before I became reckless and irresponsible. I would never experiment with anything illegal, but something about pharmaceuticals made it all feel safe. I don’t know what I was trying to prove and often I’d perform the calculations myself to ensure my safety.

I usually had my nose in the Pharmacopeia. Holmes was always coming up with new formularies for tried and true method. Our new hobby was detrimental to my studying habits and yet I was performing at the top of my class. The only studying we seemed to get around to was superficial anatomy.

There wasn’t much point in attending lectures. If Holmes wasn’t going, there really wasn’t any reason I should go either. I didn’t want to sit in a lecture theatre for the rest of my life or share lab equipment with twenty other students. I wanted to ask the question that I wanted to ask. Perform the experiments I wanted to perform; without the stringent limitations of a laboratory instructor.

The teaching lab was tedious and mindless, we never applied any real knowledge, we only weighed, mixed, and melted for superfluous purposes. Why should I go through the pains of isolating a pure solvent that is destined for the waste bin?

Under Holmes’ teaching I was able to short cut most of the hard labour. Certainly it didn’t go by the lab manual, but precipitating out my undesired product and removing it via filtration made much more sense than waiting for hours for the mixture to pass through a distillation set up.

There was so much more to organic chemistry than what they were leading us to believe. Distillation and chromatography were just the beginning and we had been stuck behind the starting line for nearly two terms. Holmes was able to pull me out of my rut and put me on the path to something I really cared for and that was research.

I refused to perform any inhumane experiments on animals so I became somewhat of a human guinea pig. And in the months leading up to our long vac, we experimented constantly. Now mind you, it wasn’t always drugs, we did examine things other than the psycho-activity of various compounds. Though it was fascinating to compare and contrast the effects the chemicals had on our psyche.

I thought little of the side-effects of our actions because there didn’t appear to be any. Then Holmes began drifting away from the clinical applications of our research and became far more interested in criminology.

It all began with fungal grave markers and exploded from there. He used his keen senses and scanned through countless faces of convicted murders. As he read through the police reports, he kept flipping back to view the perpetrator’s features. He began focusing in on minute details and categorizing famous serial killers using a qualitative analysis incorporating the most absurd terms.

“If you’re trying to profile a serial killer, why would it matter how many cats his mother owned?” I truly believed the experiments were going to his head. The room was so coated in diagrams, figures, and photographs, one couldn’t even make out the colour of the wall-paper underneath.

Holmes sat on the bed, staring across the room at a particular photograph. He sat with his fingers steepled and pressed under his chin.

“Have you seen my keys?” I asked as I searched under the rubbish that had accumulated to about an inch high off the floor. “I suppose I haven’t seen them since the past Tuesday... my have I been here that long?”

“Yes.” Said he with a long bored drawl. His eyes slowly drifted over to me. “You aren’t leaving, are you?”

“No, I’m just not certain where I’ve left my keys.” Holmes made note of it in his notebook.

“Good, we still have much to do.”

“I believe your brother called.”

“He’s always calling people.” Holmes said dismissively.

“No, I distinctly remember him leaving a message. Shall I play it back for you?”

Holmes grunted a response and returned his focus to the adjacent wall. I took advantage of the opportunity to get some rest and curled up in the armchair to take a quick cat nap.

I awoke slowly. I heard broken pieces of Holmes’ conversation with his brother. I shifted to get more comfortable and ended up drifting off again. Only to be woken again by shouting.

“Look at the state of this place! What have you been doing in here? And what in God’s name are you on?” I opened one eye to see Mycroft standing not three feet away from my chair. “You should be ashamed of yourself, dragging a boy like Victor down with you. Rest assured, mummy will hear of this and she will not take it lightly.”

“How’s the new girlfriend?” Holmes quipped.

“Don’t you dare turn this around on me.” Mycroft turned red in the face and he started steaming with anger.

“Yes, well, we all have our little secrets we’d like to keep.” Holmes continued to rosin his bow with a crooked grin.

“Sherlock, this matter concerns your well-being. You cannot go on living like this.”

“I can and I will.” He gently placed the bar of rosin on his nightstand, brought his violin up to his chin, and began playing a tune of his own creation, entitled, ‘ _Piss off, Mycroft’._

“This isn’t the last you’ll hear of this.” Mycroft warned as he left in a huff.

I sat up in my chair and rubbed my eyes. “Should give the place a good clean, before he comes back.”

“It doesn’t matter what he says.”

“He has a direct pipeline to your mother, so I believe it does.” I began straightening up the place, anticipating Mycroft’s return.

“Any news from your father?” His look told all; he knew full well I’d been in contact with my father, though I wasn’t quite sure how he had figured it all out.

“Yes.” Said I.

“Is he well?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t he be?”

Holmes furrowed his brows.

“What is it?”

“You don’t often receive a phone call from him.”

“Oh, that.” I looked down at my hands. “It wasn’t father. His neighbour Mr Beddoes placed the call for him. Father is morbidly afraid of telephones.”

“Was he always that way?”

“No, I’m certain he wasn’t. He won’t even allow a land-line in the house. You can imagine how it was for me growing up. I was effectively isolated from the other boys my age. Not many are willing to keep up correspondence through letters.”

“I suppose not.”

Holmes watched as I tidied up his room. I began peeling the photographs from the windows, letting the light in. “We had better get used to our normal way of life once more.”

“Meaning?”

“The long break is fast approaching. We should begin our withdrawal now.”

Holmes was up on his feet as quick as a flash. “So this is it?”

“I do believe it is a good point to take our break. We can resume in Autumn.” I spotted the wild look in his eyes as he came toe to toe with me. He clutched my hands firmly. “I meant from the experimentation.” I clarified.

His face became unreadable. He didn’t say a word as he began stripping the police reports off the walls revealing the garish green wallpaper.

I borrowed the hoover from across the hall and the whole room was spic and span in under an hour.

“See, your dear brother fears were unjust. Shall we invite him out for dinner? Rub some salt in his wounds?” I chuckled as I opened the windows to air out the room. “It hardly even looks like the same room.” I said, taking in a good look of the place.

“It isn’t right.”


	10. Chapter 10

_Sherlock Holmes:_

“It just isn’t right, Sherlock. He’s calling _me_ to see how you are. Why won’t you just talk to him?” John was on his path to righteousness and it wasn’t yet noon. I didn’t have the time or energy to deal with my dear old friend.

“Focus on the task at hand, John.”

“I don’t see why you can’t just pick up the phone, type out a short little text telling him you’re alive, and be done with it!” John tapped his thumb on the arm of his chair impatiently. “What did you call me here for anyhow?”

“Your favourite, woman murdered in her home, no signs of forced entry; husband was away on business.”

“Any windows?”

“She was found in a panic room.”

John’s face brightened up. “You had me at no signs of forced entry.” He chuckled. “Murder weapon?”

“Bludgeoned with a cricket bat.”

“Really?” He said with a shocked look.

I handed him the photographs of the gruesome crime scene. He squinted attempting to conceal his presbyopia.

“I take it they believe she managed to do this to herself?” John focused in on the image of the woman with the bashed in face. In her hands was the murder weapon, the police were apt to believe she gave herself a few good whacks until she managed to smash her skull in.

However, the near ninety degree angle of facial fracturing would suggest her murderer was a good deal shorter than her, the man held the bat behind his head and swung in a downward motion; making contact with the woman’s face mid-swing. It would be impossible for the woman to inflict the damage herself given the force of the blows and the length of her arms.

“Why would a young heiress have a panic room?” John asked, setting the photos aside. “Enemies?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He had been on such a good roll too; it was a pity to see him become blinded from the obvious.

“The woman had her face bashed in with a bat. Sounds personal to me.”

“No, the two had never met. Otherwise, why would she have retreated to the panic room?”

“If she was being threatened-“

“No, no, you fail to see the evidence before you. She didn’t invite the man in to her home.”

“But... there were no signs of forced entry.”

“That doesn’t always mean the victim knew the assassin.”

“Ninja?”

“Dwarf.” John gave me a look of confusion that begged me to elaborate. “He was small enough to enter the house through the dog door and hide in the woman’s cupboard while she slept.”

John’s face contorted and he sucked in his bottom lip. His face turned red and he sputtered a laugh. “I’m sorry.”

“A woman has just been brutality murdered in her home, have some decency.”

“Through the dog door.” He rasped and laughed so forcefully he started into a coughing fit.

“John.” I couldn’t see why the thought of a three foot tall hired gun was so amusing to John.  He couldn’t contain his giggling; it was an embarrassing sight to say the least.

“Well, fortunately for Scotland Yard, it’s probably going to be a _small_ list of potential suspects.”

“I should have had you stay at home.”

“Sherlock, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.” He composed himself and let out a deep breath. “I do have to say one thing though, about this case.”

I gave him a warning look.

“At least it was short.”

* * *

_Victor Trevor:_

“There’s no need to be so short with me.”

“There’s no reason to try get on my brother’s good-side, when he hasn’t got one!” Holmes didn’t appreciate my extensive apology to his brother for the state of the place. He especially didn’t appreciate me inviting Mycroft out to dinner so that we could chat in private.

“I would like for him to put in a good word for me with your mother so he’ll allow you to stay with me over the long vac. Is that such a hard concept to grasp?”

“I’m an adult. I can go wherever I like.”

“Don’t incur the wrath of your family over something foolish. I’d like to have you on good terms with them.”

“This doesn’t concern you.”

“I care about you Holmes.”

“If you truly cared about me, you wouldn’t be going out with my brother.”

“It isn’t a date.” I insisted but Holmes wouldn’t have it. He assumed his brother would sweep me off my feet and whisk me away to the country-side with him. “Besides, he has a girlfriend.”

Holmes grabbed at his hair and let out an angry growl. “He isn’t the man he makes himself out to be! He’s a rat bastard and will do anything to discourage our friendship.”

“Now, why would he ever do that?”

“Jealousy.” Holmes said letting his hands fall. “He doesn’t want to see me happy.”

“This feud between you two is childish.”

“And you believe a private dinner date with Mycroft will bring an end to it?”

“No. And it isn’t a _date_.”

I couldn’t emphasize enough that I wasn’t going out on a date behind his back. Though when I arrived at the restaurant it appeared very much like a date. Mycroft was the one that set up the reservations and chose the venue. I hadn’t the slightest clue it would be a candle-lit dinner, otherwise I may have dressed myself better for the occasion. I felt naked without a suit-jacket and tie. Of course, Mycroft was in his signature three piece suit with the chain of his father’s pocket-watch looped around his fourth button.

I couldn’t help but think about the price of his tailor and how often he must have his suits re-fitted. His girth had grown substantially since the last time I had seen him. I assumed it was from the stress of running the British Government single-handedly at such a young age.

“How are things in London?” I asked as I took my seat.

“Very good. Busy.” He nodded. “I’ve already ordered. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Was I-“

“No. Not late at all. I knew you would want to get down to business straight away so I took the liberty of ordering for you.” He said with a grin.

“Business?”

“Yes.” His eyes darted to the corner of the room. “This is what this is about, isn’t it?”

“No. Actually, I was intent on getting to know you better outside of your brother’s earshot.”

“Oh.” He sounded sincerely surprised. I realized a bit late it sounded like a bit of a come-on.

“He’s a good lad, your brother.” Said I, making a feeble attempt at recovering from my earlier statement, but now it sounded like I was not only hitting on the man, but I was also intent on being unfaithful to Holmes.

“He is, very _misguided_ , to put it kindly.”

“Aren’t we all at our age?”

“You don’t seem to understand my concerns.”

“I understand completely.”

“Do explain.”

I froze for a moment, being put on the spot. I cleared my throat and tried to think about it from Mycroft’s perspective. “You believe he’s on the path to self-destruction and that this form of experimentation will lead to addiction.”

“And that you’ll follow him to the ends of this earth.”

“You... you’re worried about... me?” I was beyond words. Mycroft Holmes was practically a stranger to me. Why should he care about my well-being?

“My brother has no right to soil your bright future.”

“He’s not.”

“Isn’t he?”

“I have a free-will. I do as I wish.”

“And do you wish to destroy your life with drugs?”

“They’re pharmaceuticals... It’s not as if we’re doing anything illegal.” I tried to defend myself but I knew it was pointless. “And besides, we’ve stopped.”

“You’ve stopped and only because you want to deal with the withdrawal symptoms before returning home to your father. What would he say about your recent behaviour? You being his only son.”

“Yes. I understand.” Our meal arrived and my appetite was non-existent. It took all my strength to choke down a few bites of food. All I could think of was what my dear papa would say if he ever found out.

“Do you intend to see Sherlock over the break?” Mycroft obviously had the high-ground in our dispute. I couldn’t help but be ashamed of myself.

“If that would be alright.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Mycroft’s smile was reassuring.

“I do apologise for any hardships I’ve caused your family.”

“I assure you, we are all too familiar with disappointment when it comes to Sherlock.”

I believed he was being a bit harsh on his brother but I dared not tell him so. The evening concluded and we said our good-byes. I returned to Holmes’ accommodations to find him missing. Fortunately the door was unlocked. I made myself at home and waited for Holmes to return.

I awoke to the sounds of heavy breathing. A pair of hands grabbed me in the dark and I let out a yelp.

“Sh.” Holmes placed a hand over my mouth and started unbuttoning my trousers. I called out but his hand muffled my cries. He hushed me once more.

I felt a surge of adrenalin and I became conflicted with arousal and the strong will to fight. It wasn’t long before he was completely on top of me, pinning me to the spot. He ravished me with his lips. I could feel his stiff member rubbing against my inner thigh.

I was terrified things were moving too fast. I hadn’t the time to think, let alone react. Holmes kept moaning and panting. When he released himself from the confines of his pants my mind blanked.

He guided my hand exactly where he wanted it. He thrust into my fist, making the most obscene of noises. He let out a grunt of frustration and begged me to do more for him. I had no idea what he meant by a ‘blow job’.

God, did I feel like a fool. He was quick to inform me that he wanted me to perform oral sex. I’ll never understand what drove me to comply with his demands. It went against everything my upbringing had taught me. Lying down with another man was bad enough. This went well beyond kissing.

It was officially sex. I had never been so nervous in my life. Holmes rolled on to his back and was expecting it of me. I wasn’t anywhere near ready. He kept trying to guide me down as I stroked him, hoping it would bring him to completion so I wouldn’t have to perform the immoral deed. When he had finally succeeded in bringing me close enough and my tongue got its first taste of Holmes’ flesh, I was taken aback.

I could have ended it right there but I kept going. He threaded his fingers through my hair and clutched the back of my head tightly. The experience reminded me strongly of drowning. I desperately tried to fill my lungs for air whenever he’d let me go.

Holmes was clearly enjoying it going by the noise he was making. It wasn’t long before he became rough in his search for release. I did my best to suppress my choking. He held my head still and I felt my airways become blocked. He let out a loud moan, followed by a sharp thrust, before letting go of me.

I pulled away, coughing and spitting. I felt sick to my stomach. However much my brain tried to rationalize it, I couldn’t come to terms with what I had just done. It was within my full power to leave at any moment, but somehow I felt pressured in to it, coerced.

Holmes fell into a blissful sleep and I took my leave. Without my room key, there were few places I could go.

I ended up on my great aunt’s doorstep, waiting for her butler to answer the door. I felt a torrent of emotions consume me. I was playing the role of fool very well. I should have known this was where things were headed with Holmes.

I was trying to delay the inevitable. I knew it was only a matter of time before Holmes would have his way with me, grow bored, and leave.


	11. Chapter 11

_Sherlock Holmes:_

I was growing bored with the trickle of casework coming in. I left Baker Street in hopes of finding something that would pique my interests and instead ran into Trevor. He invited me out to lunch and I regretfully declined. He countered with coffee and again I declined.

“Holmes, you’re ignoring me.” He pretended not to be distraught by his revelation.

“John has let it get into your head that I’m doing it on purpose.”

“Are you?”

I had no response for him.

“We don’t have to have a meal together, we could go back to yours if you would like.” He offered.

I caught that shameful look in his eye; the embarrassed flush. I knew what he was proposing and it wasn’t what he wanted.

“Don’t apologise when you haven’t done anything wrong.” I said with a small sigh.

“I won’t accept that as an answer.”

“As an answer to what?”

“Holmes, it’s the oldest line in the book. ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ and I won’t have it.”

“Stop wasting your time. It isn’t worth the trouble.”

“You are worth that and a lot more to me. Don’t give up on yourself.” He placed his hand on my shoulder and gave it a strong squeeze. “I understand you need time to heal.”

“John and I were _never_ lovers.” I couldn’t believe he would think such a thing. His hand dropped and fell to his side. “Now, if you would kindly leave me alone, I have work to do.”

“Of course.”

I drew in a sharp breath as he kissed me on the cheek in the middle of Trafalgar Square. Once he left I became hyper-aware of my surroundings. I couldn’t remember the intermediate steps I took to end up at my destination. It was dream-like in a way.

I went through the trouble of phoning Lestrade only to get his voice-mail. We weren’t on speaking terms and it was driving me mad.

**Trafalgar Square. Come at once. Your livelihood may be a stake. –SH**

 I let the phone ring several times and waited for the detective inspector to panic. When he finally did arrive I was surprised at how long he took to get there.

“What is it?” He was out of breath, under-dressed, and he had a five o’clock shadow.

“It’s your day off.”

“Yeah and I’d like to be spending it at home if you don’t mind. Now what’s this about my livelihood?”

“I need a case.”

“No.” He said with an air of disbelief. “That can’t be why you had me run down here.”

“If I die of boredom, I’ll see to it that you’re indicted for my murder.”

“You’re not bored. You’re just trying to come up with an excuse not to face your ex-boyfriend.”

“I see you’ve broken it off with your new girlfriend. Pity, I was starting to like her.”

“You never met the girl!”

“She kept you distracted enough.”

“Look, you need to get yourself together, go tell this guy to piss off or whatever, and get on with your life, because last thing I need is you occupying all my spare time.”

“Why not? You’re single now.”

“I’m not going down that road with you, now go tell the man how you feel or I’ll tell him for you.”

“Would you?” I was intrigued by his offer. “I mean, you wouldn’t explicitly say there was anything going on between us.”

“There isn’t!” His entire body tensed, defensively.

“Well, if you led him to believe there was, then surely he’d leave me alone.”

“Sherlock, why in hell would I ever say anything that would even suggest we’re at it?”

“You said you would.”

“I said I’d tell him how you feel.”

“Which suggests we’re in an intimate relationship and that I express my feelings and discuss them openly with you.”

“No, it’s me telling him that he’s harassing you and he needs to lay off.”

“You play the role of jealous boyfriend very well.”

“I’m not your boyfriend.”

“You musn’t read too much into these things.”

“If this guy’s bothering you, put a restraining order on em. Don’t see why you have to go dragging me into it. Unless...”

“No.” I wasn’t going to listen to his ranting any longer. I began to walk back in the general direction of Baker Street.

“You don’t want to hurt his feelings!” He shouted in revelation.

“Would you please keep it down? You never know who could be listening.” Lestrade followed me through the throng of tourists.

“You don’t want your feelings hurt neither. This is brilliant.” He laughed maliciously.

“What could possibly be so amusing about my situation? You couldn’t possibly-“

“You’re ‘fraid of commitment, that’s what this is.”

I’m afraid he had me there. Combined with the emotional investment, it wasn’t in my best interest to keep seeing Victor Trevor. I didn’t want to devote myself to anything time consuming; I never have. Why should my old friend receive special treatment?

“I’m committed to my work.” I retorted.  

“So am I, but when’s the last time work ever got you off? Just sayin’.”

“I fear we’ve become far too comfortable with one another.”

“Well us being fictional boyfriends and all, you’d expect a certain level of comfort talkin’ bout things... of that sort.”

“We should discuss this over lunch.”

“Do we have to have fictional sex? Don’t think I’m ready just yet.” He jeered.

“Still reeling over your last fictional relationship?”

“You were right. She was a bit young, naive, simple-“

“Good in bed.” I added.

“Fantastic.”

“I can see why you liked her.”

“It wasn’t all about the sex.”

“Yes it was.”

“99.99% of it was. She liked football as well.”

“She was only pretending to get into your pants.”

“Well... it worked.” He said with a shrug.

“How much did it cost?”

“Well with food n’ everythin’ I’d say this one cost me bout twelve grand and two years of therapy. Tack that on to the rest... puts me in the hole a hundred thousand and two lifetimes worth of therapy, this year alone.”

“Must be a record. Which number was she?”

“Number twenty-seven, I think.”

“No wonder John decided to settle down. It seems you’ve drained the sea of all its fish.”

“All I’m gettin’ is sharks and octopuses. N’ the occasional whelk.”

We stopped off at the Thai pot and took a seat.

“Look, I’m glad we’re back on speaking terms.” He said after a long silence.

“Would you consider me a friend?”

Lestrade tapped his fingers on the table in an odd pattern, clearly reflecting on the question, thinking of the best way to answer without coming across as either hurtful or homosexual. “Yeah.” He said unsurely. Obviously it was the latter he was trying to avoid.

“You don’t have to worry about coming across as gay, when I know you’re not.” I was surprised to see a pupillary reflex in reaction to my statement; a very strong one in fact. It appeared as if I had uncovered something new about Lestrade. What fun. I couldn’t hold back an impish grin.

“This isn’t going to come back to haunt me is it?”

“What is?” I asked nonchalantly.

“This date.”

“Of course not.” I lied.

“Don’t need Sally and Anderson thinking-“

 “You just used Anderson and think in the same sentence.”

“He is well educated, just so you know.”

“You can educate a chimp; it doesn’t make it any more intelligent.”

“What’s the story with you and this Victor fellow?”

“Changing the subject are we?”

“I don’t fancy Anderson, if that’s what you think.”

“Why would you?” I smirked.

“I don’t.”

“So why would-“

“Oi, could you just give me a straight answer.” Lestrade closed his eyes and bit his tongue. “That's not what I meant.”

“I know exactly what you meant.”

“D’you like him?” He was being bashful, but not in the typical flirting sort of way. It appeared as if the detective inspector was trying to protect me from something. At least we were on the same page.

“Would I even acknowledge his feelings if I didn’t?”

“You don’t acknowledge my feelings, not ever!”

“Who says I like you?”

“You don’t acknowledge John’s feelings neither.”

“Must you ruin a perfectly good afternoon?”

“What’s the purpose of this date anyhow?”

“You’ll see.” At that point I wasn’t exactly sure of the plan myself. I only wanted to spare Trevor the agony of rejection.

“I really hope I don’t.”

“Ignorance is bliss.”

“Then you must be the happiest man alive.”

* * *

_Victor Trevor:_

I was just about the happiest man alive when I received a letter from father saying I could bring Holmes home for the long vac.

“He says you can stay as long as you like.”

“Just a month will do.” Holmes said, packing up his things.

“The train leaves tomorrow at eight. Will you come?” My hope was that he’d say that he wouldn’t miss it for the world; instead he gave me a noncommittal shrug. “I really would like for you to meet papa. You’d like him; I’m sure of it. You two have many of the same interests.” Holmes’ emotions remained elusive. “What have I done this time?”

“You still haven’t apologised for running away.”

“Yes I have.” Said I, taking on a defensive tone. “I apologised profusely; you even accepted, don’t you remember?”

“You refuse to acknowledge what happened between us.”

“I assumed you had forgotten all about it. You weren’t in the right mind at the time.” He slammed his suitcase and snapped it shut. “I don’t wish to leave on bad terms.”

“Who says we’re on bad terms?”

“Holmes, I’m terribly confused.”

“I know.” His lips met mine and I went a bit faint. “I’ll see you in a fortnight.”

“What about until then? I haven’t a phone. How will you reach me? Where will we meet?”

“Norfolk. I’ll track you down.”

“How?” I asked, in fear he'd abandon me.

“I have my ways.”

Indeed he did. In two weeks time he was at my front door, bright and early.

“How did you manage to get here? You didn’t stay overnight in a hotel and I’m most certain no train would arrive this early.”

“Brilliant, go on.” Said he, handing me his luggage. “Can’t have come by train, how else would I get here?”

“By car... however I didn’t see anyone pull up.”

“Go on.”

“What, have you mastered the art of prestidigitation?” I looked him over from head to toe. “Are those riding breeches?”

“I thought you’d never guess.”

“You came by horse?”

“I knew your father had a stable and would likely have room for an extra horse.”

“What possessed you to ride a horse all this way?”

“My eldest brother, Sherrinford, was giving her away. He’s selling the primary estate.”

“That’s a shame. Mycroft says it has been in the family for centuries.”

“Free horse.” He said with a shrug.

“Yes and that makes up for it all doesn’t it?” I laughed.

“At least for me, can’t say the same for Mycroft.” He said with a malevolent chuckle.

“It must be hard on him.”

“Oh please, making it up the stairs is hard on Mycroft.”

“You musn’t speak poorly of your brother, he is blood after all.”

“You only say that because your blood has run thin.”

Holmes struck a nerve. Normally I wouldn’t even bat an eyelash at his cruel jests. However, this particular statement carried with it a lot of weight.

My blood line was running very thin. My father’s side had died out, leaving my father and I to carry on the family name, and I was certain he wasn’t about to run off and have another child, not after my dear sister’s passing. I took in a sharp breath, feeling a rush of terror.

I had known for years it was my soul duty to produce an heir. I just had never gotten around to courting anyone. No one piqued my interest like Holmes and perhaps that is what frightened me the most. I was torn between hoping our relationship was just a silly infatuation and never wanting it to end.

“I’m sorry we’re so short staffed.” Said I, hauling his luggage through the entryway. I glanced over to see Holmes snickering. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Said he. His eyes were watering and I could tell he was trying his hardest to hold back his laughter.

“You can tell me, I’m sure I won’t be offended.”

“Oh God Trevor the decor is atrocious.”

“The furnishings were purchased by my late mother.”

“She had dreadful taste.” He snorted a laugh and put a hand over his mouth. “My apologies, truly... I am sorry you were forced to grow up in such a house.”

“Holmes!” We passed through the formal dining room and I thought the lad was going to keel over. He held on to his sides and roared with laughter.

“What is it?”

“That is an absolute travesty.” He wiped the tears out of his eyes and took in a deep breath. “High gloss, moss green paint, in an Elizabethan house. And berber carpet to boot.” He bit his bottom lip. “Oh have a sense of humour, Trevor. The picture frames are mismatched, there are two dining chairs that don’t belong to the set, and all the paintings are reprints from different eras!”

“Holmes, that’s incredibly rude of you to say.”

“Believe me, it needed saying.”

“Should I even bother showing you the rest of the house?”

“There’s more?” He sputtered a laugh.

“I don’t need your ridicule.” I walked him through my least favourite room of the house and waited for his response. It was the most ghastly shade of pink with matching paisley pink furniture. The portraits were mismatched and there was one without a frame. The chandelier hung too low and was made of cheap plastic and fake candles. Every surface was cluttered in various knick knacks. The room served no purpose other than to pay homage to my late mother, whose ashes were set in an oversized copper urn on the mantel of the fire place.

“Well?” I waited impatiently for his criticism.

“Your mother was very attached to you. Your photographs, she had your picture taken every month your first year and once every four months until you were seven. She passed away just a year before your sister. She must have been envious of you, your sister.” Holmes strolled through the pink room with his hands behind his back, looking through my old baby photos. “Anyone could plainly see you were your mother’s favourite.”

“Stop.” I was beginning to believe it was a grave mistake inviting him out to Norfolk.

“Your father keeps her ashes in the same room with the ashes of his former dogs.” He said with a hum. “Where’s the library? I would love to see his showcase. I’m quite fond of taxidermy.” Holmes strode out of the pink room, much to my relief. He promptly discovered my father’s library. “Ah, this is more like it.” He started scanning the books’ titles. “He’s had each of them rebound in neutral tones of leather to provide continuity in the room. Original floors, the carpet matches the time period, as does the style of furnishings. He’s definitely a man of taste. I’m surprised he doesn’t entertain more. He seems the extrovert type.”

“You haven’t even met the man.”

“You can tell more about a man from his choice of furnishings than you could ever from merely shaking his hand. Now where is his trophy room? I must see it.”

“Upstairs. I’ll show you to your room while we’re at it.”

“Are the servant’s quarter’s separate from the main home?”

“Yes they’re-“

“I’d rather stay in the cottage then, if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll see if the gamekeeper wouldn’t mind.”

“I take it he keeps the grounds as well.”

“And the stables.”

“You are terribly under staffed.”

“He really doesn’t mind the extra work. He’s been with my father over a decade, he’s bound to be used to it by now.”

We stalled on the stairway and Holmes froze at the base of the stairs. He looked up at the massive elephant head adorning the wall above the arched entryway.

“I must warn you, it is a lot to take in. Some believe my father’s collection is quite... sick.”

“How many are there?”

“Nearly two-hundred; all museum quality mounts. If you have a favourite animal, he’s probably shot it.” I brought him to the top of the stairs and let him soak it in for a moment before beginning the tour. “Of the thirteen bedrooms in this house my father has converted all but four into his private trophy rooms. He’s kept the animals together, categorized by the African countries in which he claimed their lives: South Africa, Namibia, Botswana, Zimbabwe, Mozambique, Zambia, Tanzania, Kenya, and Uganda. Where would you like to begin?”

We rarely had guests and I could understand why, going by the look on Holmes’ face. Holmes was in quite a shock standing in front of the open doorways, leading to my father’s collections.

“Would you like to see the worst of it?”

Holmes nodded and followed me into my father’s favourite room. I flipped on the lights and Holmes was clearly taken aback.

“There are sixteen, not including the two cubs; all males. I’m not sure if you know much about lions, but many were destined to be bachelors for life.” The _Lion’s Den_ , as my father affectionately called it, housed eighteen life-sized mounts of male lions which he had claimed in Zambia. 

“By God. This is the most spectacular display I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Came a voice from the hall.

“Papa!” I shouted gleefully. “I’m glad you’re up, I’d like for you to meet-“

“Holmes, my good man. My Victor speaks very highly of you.” He shook Holmes’ hand firmly and gave him a pat on the back. “I see you’ve been admiring my collection. Most people are put off by the sheer magnitude of it all. No doubt you saw the bull elephant, coming up the stairs?”

“How could I possibly miss it?”

“My one true regret in life was not having the creature fully mounted. I prefer all my mounts to be life-size and in the position I last saw them in, to preserve the memory.” He said mournfully. When I was a boy, I had half expected him to have my mother and sister stuffed and placed among the African wild-life.

My father led Holmes through the remaining rooms while I took the opportunity to tidy up my room.

Holmes returned to me in a daze.

“How was it?” I asked taking a seat on my bed. Holmes shut the door behind him slowly.

“I do believe I’m madly in love with your father.”

I laughed at his offhanded remark and held out my hand to guide him closer to the bed. “I knew you two would be as thick as thieves in no time.”

“How did he make his fortune? You never said.”

“Investments.”

“I see. He must have cashed them in all at once. I cannot believe he did all of that in one trip.”

“Mr Beddoes, our neighbour, was with him. He was kind enough to let my father keep his kills as well. They still go on hunts together, only now it’s all pheasants and foxes instead of gazelles and giraffes.” I held his hand in mine and dragged him ever closer. “Are you sure you want to sleep in the cottage? I’ve made up the guest bed for you.”  

“May I have a tour of the grounds?” Said he, changing the subject.

“Certainly, as long as we’re back before luncheon.”

“You two eat in the formal dining room?”

“For every meal.”

“Who cooks it?”

“Cook. She came with the house.”

“Didn’t your father inherit anything from his parents?”

“His side of the family have long since passed away.”

“Yes but you said he made a mint in investments. Where did he come up with the money to invest?”

“Must you find holes in every story?”

“Only in stories that are untrue. He came across a great sum of money and I intend to figure out how while I’m here.” Holmes slid open my night-stand drawer and began pulling out its contents.

“What are you doing?” I laughed.

“I’m getting to know you better.”

“You could just ask me about myself.”

“My way is less biased.” He sorted the odds and ends. Once he was finished he walked away and disregarded the mess he had created. “How about that tour?”

We left the house to explore the garden. I led him to the edge, nearest the forest, and he tackled me behind the hedges. I lay on my back, being attacked by a barrage of kisses.

“For God’s sake, Holmes. Please don’t leave a mark.” I begged.

“Meet me in the servant’s quarters, midnight. We’ll finish this then.”

“We musn’t be found together.” I reminded him.


	12. Chapter 12

_Sherlock Holmes:_

It wasn’t often I found myself in another man’s bed. I awoke wrapped up in a backwards embrace. A flood of information all hit me at once and I sorted through it slowly.

One, I was naked. Two, I had been naked for quite some time. Three, I was in a hotel room, central London, near King’s cross. Three stars. Reasonably priced. Company accommodations.

How could I allow things to get so out of hand?

The evening went from introducing Trevor to Lestrade to ending up in Trevor’s bed.

“Holmes.” I had an involuntary jerk at the mention of my name. “I’m sorry.” He stroked the back of my hand with one finger.

“It’s fine.” I said, though it wasn’t. Trevor grasped my hand and drew me in closer. I felt terribly cramped. “I should let you rest.” I tried to pull away but he held me even more firmly.

“We need to talk.”

“Not like this.” I felt a nervous flutter. “I would prefer speaking face to face and with more clothes if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” He laced his fingers in mine and I felt a headache come on.

“I need to go.” I began breathing heavily.

“Stay.”

“It isn’t-“ My mind fought to find the words. “No.” Was all I could come up with. I pulled away, grabbed my clothes, and locked myself in the bathroom.

I couldn’t face myself in the mirror. It was a rare occasion where I felt ashamed. I could hear Trevor standing in the doorway.

“I really must be going!” I shouted through the door. “I’m expected home. I’m meeting with a client at eleven.”

“It’s past noon.”

“Shit.” I looked down to see three of my buttons missing on my shirt. I tore off my shirt, opened the door, and handed it to Trevor. “Do you have an extra shirt?”

“Of course.” He said kindly. I felt a twinge of pain in my lower back. I stretched uncomfortably and grimaced. “I’d like to set up a definitive date, to discuss things.”

“I understand.” He returned with a starch white button down. I put it on without giving it a second thought. “I’ll have my people call your people.”

“I’m serious, Sherlock.”

I felt a chill run through my body as if someone had stepped on my grave. He rarely if ever referred to me by my given-name.

“Later, we’ll discuss this later.” I said, leaving in a hurry.

When I arrived at Baker Street I was startled to find my brother in John’s chair. I hadn’t noticed any of the classic signs of Mycroft’s arrival. Before I had the time to rush to get changed he noticed everything I had feared.

“Well, well. I must say that I wasn’t expecting _this_. You surprise me, Sherlock.” He sipped his tea complacently. “I thought I would come by and offer you something to stave off your boredom, but I can clearly see that won’t be necessary.”

“Let me have a look at it.” I stepped towards him with an outreached hand.

“Now, now. I can always find someone else-“

“Mycroft, please.”

“My, this is serious.” He chuckled.

“The case.” I demanded.

“You have more important things to focus on. I don’t believe now is the right time to be distracting you.”

“It’s the Nepalese gold smugglers.”

He let out a long sigh; which could only mean I was right. “They have expanded their operations and are smuggling bodies.”

“Organ harvesting?”

“That’s all I can say.”

“I have no reservations about chinning my own blood.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

There were no reasonable explanations for my actions that were soon to follow. I reached for my brother’s umbrella, he grabbed the handle, and I used the leverage to pull him out of John’s chair. We began a tug of war. He wrenched the umbrella from my grip. Gave me a few good whacks, I countered with a solid kick to his ribs, and he placed me in a choke hold, using his umbrella’s edge to restrict my windpipe.

Fortunately he let go when I went unconscious. I awoke with a nasty head-ache, a raw throat, and blurred vision. I felt a hand on my chest and saw a face close to mine.

“John.” I said with a panicked cough. I sat straight up and saw bursts of lights flash before my eyes. I gasped for air and searched the room for Mycroft. “Bastard.” I choked out.

“What happened?” I focused in on John’s face and found him very concerned.

I wheezed and coughed, trying to say, ‘Never you mind’ I collapsed from dizziness and nearly vomited on John’s shoes. He brought me to my bed and examined my throat. After I regained my voice, I gave him the details of the fight.

“What would possess you to attack Mycroft?” He asked, pulling his hands away.

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Is this about Victor?”

“Why is everything about _Victor_? Can’t I go a day without hearing the man’s name used in every sentence?”

“You were with him last night, weren’t you? Greg said-“

“Well screw _Greg._ He’s just as bad as the lot of you.”

“We only want to help. If you would just tell me what’s going on-“

“Just leave me alone, I can handle things on my own.” I turned away from him and felt every muscle fibre twinge with soreness. I let out a pained sigh.

“You’re not an island.”

“I wish I were.”

“Things won’t get better like this.”

“Why should you care?”

“Because I’m your friend. And I’d like to think that I’m your best friend. Sometimes your only friend when you decide to go on your rampages. I just want you to know I’m here for you whenever you need me.”

“What about Mary?”

“She will never come between us. That’s how it will always be. I thought I had shown that to you with a quarter of a million failed romances. I’m lucky to have Mary. She seems to be the only woman on this earth that understands our... bromance.”

“Mm, brotherly love.” I felt my throat. “I don’t quite see how it’s relevant to my situation.”

“Well, you did grab his umbrella. Might as well have grabbed a hold of his manhood.”

“Alright! That’s nice, John. You can leave now.” I said dismissing him. He laughed heartily at my response.

* * *

_Victor Trevor:_

I wasn’t sure how to respond to Holmes’ demands to meet him in the servant’s cottage to finish our endeavours. All throughout luncheon, I kept nervously glancing over at Holmes. I really had wished he would tone it down. While it was thrilling, sneaking around with him, it was also nerve wracking to think about being caught.

“Mr Beddoes will be round for dinner tomorrow. We plan on leaving for the weekend.”

“What?” I dropped my spoon into my bowl in shock from his sudden announcement. “You haven’t left Donnithrope in years!”

“Don’t you believe it’s about time I did?” He chuckled at my reaction. “What are your thoughts, Holmes?” My father looked to Holmes who was intently watching our interactions.

“A man should be free to do as he pleases.”

“Here, here.” Father said cheerfully. He raised his glass of port wine and toasted Holmes’ health. I had to laugh at my father’s antics. It was rare to see him in such high spirits. “Now, Victor has told me about your keen powers of observations, young man. How you deduced my travels from a wristwatch. Go on, I’m a good-humoured man, what else can you deduce about me?”

“I’m afraid, not much.”

“Oh, is that so?” My father said with an air of disappointment.

“Other than you’ve been on high alert of late. Within the last twelve months. You’ve come to fear for your life.”

Father ran his finger under his collar to loosen it. He swallowed hard and looked to Holmes. “Is that so?”

“Your walking cane, your carry it around with you room to room but don’t rely on it for support. Going by the inscription, you haven’t had it for more than a year. You’ve gone through the pains of having it modified to fit an iron blade. You wouldn’t take such precautions if you didn’t have some reason to fear for your safety.”

“I’m afraid he’s right, Victor.” He said looking to me with sorrowful eyes. “I have been the target of some unkind words around the town. It seems my collections have drawn the unwanted attention of a rather rowdy group of young activists, seeking to destroy them. Poor Beddoes was away on holiday when they broke into his home and destroyed his prized polar bear.” He smiled softly at Holmes. “It seems to me, Mr Holmes, that you will have a future in this. The detectives of Scotland Yard would be mere children in your hands, looking to _you_ for guidance. This is your livelihood and you may take the word of a man who has seen something of the world.”

Although father was courteous and cordial to Holmes, he did become ever aware of Holmes and began to watch his actions.

“You frighten him.” I told Holmes later that evening. “It’s as if he isn’t sure of what you know or don’t know.”

“If he has nothing to hide, then he shouldn’t be afraid.”

“Must you be so cruel?” Said I, brushing back his hair as I lay on top of him. It was half past midnight and we had been lying in each other’s arms, not doing much of anything. I rested my chin on top of my hands on Holmes’ bare chest.  “If father was ever to catch us-“

“Don’t let it worry you. It will drive you to madness.”

I couldn’t help but wonder what life would be like if Holmes were a woman. How much easier it would be to introduce him to my father as my lover. Knowing me, I would have likely proposed to him on the spot. I couldn’t tear myself away from the man.

Our naked bodies became fused together in the summer’s heat. Things became ever more heated as we became absorbed in a slow and passionate French kiss. It triggered my desire to become more intimate. With each taste of his lips and tongue I couldn’t help but imagine them being put to good use elsewhere on my body.

If only I wasn’t too afraid to ask it of him. Instead my lips and tongue did the exploring. Down the length of his neck, across to his sternum, down his chest, and when I reached his navel, I stopped to look up at him. He stared at me intently, biting at his lower lip.

I crept down further, placed my hands on his hips to steady them, and took in a deep breath. I didn’t waste time toying with him, the taste was repelling but I kept at it until he hardened completely.

“Look at me.” He said breathlessly. I met his eyes briefly. “No, I want you to look at me.” Said he, lifting up my chin. “That’s it.”

It felt strange, unnerving, to look into his eyes while I performed the act on him. I tried to make it enjoyable as possible, with little experience to go off of, I changed tempo, pressure, and depth. Holmes was greatly appreciative and began to squirm. He shut his eyes and I took the opportunity to look away.

He started cursing under his breath. I pulled away and rapidly brought him to with my hand.

He let out a grunt as he tensed. He released a long breath as he relaxed. His eyes became heavy and his head lolled to one side. I sat up and watched his chest rise and fall lightly with every breath.

I sympathised with him, I was certain he hadn’t slept in days, and this was likely the first restful sleep he’d had in a fortnight. I cleaned up the mess I had made and could only pity myself. If only I could be my own advocate and speak my mind.

I laid beside him and fell into a fitful sleep, tossing and turning in the heat. When morning did arrive I was too tired to get out of bed for breakfast. I heard the shower sputter to life. I checked the clock and saw it was nearly noon. I sat up, stumbled out of bed, and headed straight for the shower.

I pushed Holmes aside and stepped under the water. I let out a loud groan.

“I really should have taken a shower before bed. The heat is unbearable this time of year.” I scrubbed my face and let out a content sigh. “What?” I noticed him blushing and acting coy. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” He said looking away.

“We’ve missed breakfast. Father will likely want to know what we’ve been up to.” He kept looking away and turned a bright shade of red. “What is it, Holmes?” I asked after I couldn’t take it any longer.

“Nothing.” Stated he.

“Well it’s obviously something; otherwise you wouldn’t be acting so peculiar.” He looked over to me and I noticed his gaze venture south before he looked away again. I looked down to see that I was half-erect. “Oh God, it isn’t as if you haven’t seen it before.”

Holmes stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. I continued going through the rituals of showering, wondering to myself if he had actually given me a proper look. Even last night all he really saw was my upper half. I looked down at myself and wondered what the attraction would be to another man’s penis.

I came out of the bathroom to find Holmes fully dressed and in his riding breeches.

“So that’s our excuse then?” Said I as I towelled off my hair and found my clothes. “I’m not exactly dressed to ride, won’t father notice if I’m in the same clothes from last night?”

“Here.” Said he, handing me my breeches and a fresh shirt.

“You went through my room?” My mind raced with all the possible things he could have found or what he could think of me. A man’s room was his sanctuary. I felt violated.

“I knew you wouldn’t mind.”

“What else did you find?”

“Nothing too incriminating.” Said he, with a malicious chuckle. I quickly slid on my pants and breeches. I pulled my shirt over my head and looked over to see Holmes staring at me with an unrelenting gaze.

“What is it?” I snapped at him. I rolled my eyes in response to his ambiguity. “I wouldn’t suppose you managed to grab my boots as well?”

Holmes slid them out from under the bed and handed them to me. I sat on the edge of the bed and stuffed my feet into my paddock boots. As I laced them up I noticed Holmes was staring at me again.

“Honestly, Holmes. If you have something to say, you might as well come out with it.”

“Nothing.” Said he, with a hoarse voice.

“Well, we might as well ride; I’m already dressed for it.” I felt a pang of guilt looking into Holmes’ eyes. “I don’t mean to be cross. It’s sometimes... I’d like to know what goes on in that head of yours.”

We left the cottage and we were greeted with the sound of ten howling foxhounds the moment I set foot in the stables. Holmes was apprehensive to say the least.

“Come now, they don’t bite.” I assured him. He cringed and walked in cautiously, shutting the door behind him. I noticed Holmes’ thoroughbred straight away. She was a gorgeous horse, fit for racing but I couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of the young mare out hunting. “Does she jump?”

“Haven’t tested it yet.”

“We should stick to the trail then.” I laughed.

“What can you tell about her?”

“That she hasn’t made it past the corral. She is still very green Holmes, I’m surprised you got her out this far. I would say she’s finicky going by her stance and not too eager to please. She will likely leave you in the dust if she catches sight of a snake. She really doesn’t have much prospect for hunting I’m afraid.”

“Shame, I was planning on giving her to your father.”

“She is a beautiful show horse. I’m surprised your brother just gave her away.” His embarrassment shone. “How much?”

“Five thousand.”

I let out a heavy sigh. “She’s still a steal, but next time, consult me. I would have been able to tell right away she was no good. We can keep her here in the meantime, until you find a more permanent home.” He looked at me shamefacedly. “I don’t mean to chide you.” Now I was starting to feel embarrassed. He meant well and I had just crushed his spirits. “What say you to a proper ride? We’ll take my father’s horse.” I led him to Charlie’s pen and Holmes looked at the horse with wide eyes.

Charlie was a well seasoned first flight horse. He was a massive dapple grey draught horse, perfect for my father’s larger frame. I had never met a braver horse with a keen sense for tracking. I’d seen Charlie lead my father through a thick river fog and reach the fox before the hounds. One could tell from first look that Charlie longed for the hunt. He reminded me far too much of my father.

After I had readied Charlie and his companion, a white warmblood gelding named Church: Holmes mounted Charlie and sat unsteadily. He was nearly a foot higher off the ground than I was and it was enough to give him vertigo. I brought Church around and led Charlie out of the stables. The hounds yowled at us as we left.

I took things easy as we headed towards the gate. I turned to ask if he was sure he didn’t want to follow the trail and I found he had disappeared. I stopped Church and began searching for him. It was beyond me how the two had vanished into thin air.

Just then, I saw Holmes rounding the stables at break neck speed. I was struck with terror as Holmes headed straight for the four-foot fence. Charlie effortlessly jumped the fence with just enough clearance to land with perfect form. He and Holmes sped off into the forest, while I had to dismount and open the gate for Church.

It took me half an hour to track them down; many of the jumps were too high for Church and we had to go round to find their trail once more. I was struck with horror when I came upon Charlie with no rider. I dismounted Church and let the two roam while I tracked Holmes by foot.

I found his clothes draped over a tree and let out a sigh of relief when I spotted a large pond behind a set of scots pines. Holmes emerged from the shining water and threw his hair back.

“You nearly frightened me to death. I hate it when you run off like that.”

“Join me.” Said he.

“Are you mad? I can hardly swim!”

“At its depths my feet can still touch the bottom, come on.” He beckoned.

“Will you rescue you me if I go under?”

“Perhaps.” He teased. I removed my clothes slowly and placed them high up on the tree. I felt self-conscious with Holmes’ staring. I stepped in and was caught off guard when I was up to my shoulders in the water. Two more steps and it was above my head. I tried stepping back but couldn’t find my footing in the slick mud.

Holmes pulled me up and roared with laughter.

“You said your feet touched the bottom!”

“Yes, they can; with half a foot of water above my head.” He laughed.

“I’m glad you believe drowning is so humorous!” He let go and I went under once more. I resurfaced and violently gasped for air. I reached out and gripped his shoulders firmly. I clung on to him for dear life as he swam closer to the water’s edge.

My breathing started to even, I wrapped my arms around him tightly.

“There’s no need to be afraid.” Said he, placing a soft kiss against my shoulder. “I’ll be there to save you.”

I wrapped my hands around the back of his neck and looked into his wild blue-green eyes. “Promise?” He answered me with a kiss. It was tender and smooth and everything one would want a kiss to be. He held me close and I ran my fingers through his thick wet curls. He moaned and a shameful whimper escaped me.

I began kissing him feverously as I felt his hand slide between my thighs under the water. I wrapped my legs around his torso and held on to his face with both hands. I licked his lips suggestively as he touched me underwater. I felt light-headed and began panting heavily.

My heart dropped when I heard, “Trevor!” ring out from behind the bushes. Mr Beddoes emerged, red faced and scowling. Holmes startled and let go. I sunk to the bottom of the pond and sat in the mud, not wanting to resurface.


	13. Chapter 13

_Sherlock Holmes:_

I watched as John looked over the surface of the countertops.

“There.” He pointed to a dent on the edge of the counter. I examined it more closely to see a trace amount of blood.

“Very good.”

Being the eager assistant, John all but wagged his imaginary tail at my praise. I was tempted to give the man a pat on the head and feed him a sugar cube from my hand. I got down on all fours and ignored Anderson’s queer looks as I followed the trail to the bathroom where Mr Morris lay dead.

“Yes, I knew the edge was too blunt. Thomas Morris had a confrontation with his father, gave him a good two handed shove, and split his head open on the kitchen counter. He dragged his father’s lifeless body here, beside the tub, in attempt to make it look like an accident. Who wouldn’t believe a senior citizen slipping on a bathroom floor? He scrubbed the kitchen floor clean of the evidence but neglected to clean the rest of the floor leaving a clear trail to his victim. You should carry a tape-recorder, it would make it easier to transcribe my anecdotes; instead of relying on memory.” I stood, removed my soiled gloves and shook the man’s hand.

“That was brilliant.” The new Detective Inspector said holding my hand far too long for my liking.

“There’s no need to remark on my brilliance, John takes good care of that.” I turned to leave, snapped my fingers and said, “Come along, John.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t do that.” John said, sulking as we left the crime scene. “Everyone is going to think Mary’s a beard.”

“You want me to come out about Victor.” I stated.

“It would help things.”

“Would it? Or would it confirm everyone’s beliefs that we were once lovers?”

John scrubbed his face with his hands. “There’s no winning with people, is there?”

“Nope.” I said with a pop. “Lunch?”

“Are you alright?” I was slightly jittery, nothing too serious, a bit itchy as well. 

“You look hungry, I thought we might stop for a sandwich.”

“Oh, right. I suppose. I’m not expected home until six.” He took a glance at his watch and squinted. I wasn’t in the mood to suggest that he have his eyes checked. I took John to the nearest cafe and took a seat. John ordered and I watched as people passed by the bay window.

“What do you think of that new inspector?”

“Scottish.” I said disinterestedly.

“I mean about his personality.” John restated. “Seems nice.”

“Not my type.”

“What’s that supposed to mean.”

“Nothing.” I said dismissing the thought.

“Am I allowed to ask how things with Victor are?”

“No. But you will.” I said reaching for my glass. I took a sip and looked to see John giving me an odd look. “What?”

“That’s my cup.” He said looking to the drink in my hand. I put it down slowly and we both stared at the cup, unsure where to go from there. I had just second hand kissed my best friend.

He took back the cup and pointedly took a sip out of it without wiping the lip of the mug clean. I gave him a nod and went back to staring out the window.

We parted before six and I roamed the streets of London, not wanting to turn in for the night. I shoved my hands in my pockets and let my feet lead me where they pleased. I regretted my decision to let fate guide me when my toes hit Lestrade’s doorstep.

I cursed myself and held my finger to the doorbell. I gave it an urgent ring and heard Lestrade’s footsteps trudge down the stairs. He opened the door a crack and I barged in to take a seat on his sofa. I kicked off my shoes and had a lie-down.

“Erm, should I call your brother?” He offered. I shook my head and rolled over to curl up against the back of the sofa. “Right.” He locked the dead-bolt and pulled his mobile out of his pocket.

“Don’t.” I said with a sigh. “He’s with his wife.”

“One of those nights?” He asked, sliding his recliner to block the door. I grunted, suddenly feeling too undignified to give a proper response. He took his seat, leaned back, and kicked his feet up. “Could tell me where your stash is, Mrs Hudson could clear it out for you.” I remained silent. “I thought you might be using again. The other night, with that Victor fellow.”

“Don’t.” I said with a muffled groan. I pressed my face further into the cushion, willing him to shut up.

“It needs to be said, Sherlock. We’ve been through this before. Almost exactly ten years ago.”

“Happy anniversary.” I said sardonically.

“Yeah well, you’re not working until you’re clean.”

“I have my own clients now, thank you.”

“Yeah and how many are willing to come to a drugged out detective?”

“Most if not all. They’re at their end’s wit.”

“Wit’s end.” He corrected. “Get some sleep; we’ll talk in the morning.” He shifted to get more comfortable.

“Yes, darling.”

“Shut up.”

* * *

_Victor Trevor:_

“Shut up, I don’t want to hear a word of it.” Mr Beddoes led his horse and Church by the reigns back to the estate while keeping a firm grip on my forearm. “Just wait until your father hears about this. The man has a weak heart as it is.”

“That’s why you musn’t tell! It will be the end of him!”

“What were you thinking? Gallivanting with that boy in the woods, looking for a good time? You’re right, he will be sickened to hear it, but it must be said. Who would have ever thought, James Trevor’s boy... a bloody pouf.”

I was reduced to tears as we walked back.

“If he doesn’t bring that horse back, I’m calling the police. Your father’s horse, what were you thinking? He’ll be devastated if anything happens to Charlie. He’ll be devastated as it is. What were you _thinking_?”

It was very obvious I wasn’t thinking. I never anticipated that Mr Beddoes would come traipsing through the woods that afternoon. He spotted my father’s horse and Church running lose and went searching for us. He was shocked to find me in the arms of another man and immediately took offence.

My father’s gamekeeper met us at the gate and took the horses to the stables without a word but glared at me as if he knew what I had done. Mr Beddoes led me inside by the scruff of my neck.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, young man. What would your dear mother have said?”

I sucked back my tears, feeling more ashamed to have been caught than I did about what I had done. Mr Beddoes sent me up to my room as if I were an unruly child instead of a full-grown man. I collapsed into my bed and cried until my tears ran dry.

There came a knock on my door and I feared the worst, only to find Cook on the other end. She came in with a tray of sandwiches.

“Has he told?” I asked through a shuddered breath. She nodded solemnly and I burst into tears once more. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” I sputtered. Cook drew me into a hug and stroked back my hair.

“You have nothing to fear, your father will come around. Your father’s a good man, he is.”

“And if he doesn’t?” I asked with a sob.

“He will.” Said she, with a reassuring grin.

She left me alone and I curled up in my bed and slept until supper. Mr Beddoes called me down and lifted my head from my pillow, hoping it was all a dream. I sat up and felt sick to my stomach. I thought it was no use delaying the inevitable.

I walked down the steps on auto-pilot. I looked back to see the bull-elephant head hanging above the entryway. I wondered if father would bother to have me shoulder mounted after he shot me dead at the dinner table. I would have rather had taken my chances with the eighteen lions’ families than face my father.

I entered the formal dining room to see Mr Beddoes and my father already seated. Father wasn’t seated at the head of the table as usual, which could only mean he wanted me to take the hot seat.

I sat and stared at my dinner plate. Normally I would be delighted to have Cook’s roast, but the thought of it being my last meal made the dish appear unpalatable. I noticed my wine glass was empty and reached out to fill it, only to be stopped by Mr Beddoes.

We continued to eat in silence. My father consumed three glasses of port before opening his mouth to speak.

“Mr Hughes has been out to the stables.” Said he, filling his glass once more. “He says Charlie is back in his stall, safe and sound.”

“What a relief.” Said I, with a heavy sigh. Mr Beddoes gave me a look and I shut my mouth promptly.

“He says he doesn’t know how he managed to sneak him in, but well... there you have it.” My father took another long sip of wine and let silence fall on the dining room once more.

I continued to poke at my food until I was excused. I rushed upstairs only to be called down again to meet my father in the library. I found him alone, having his evening pipe in his favourite armchair.

“You wanted to see me.” Said I, wringing my hands nervously behind my back.

“The door, Victor.” Said he. I shut the door behind me. “Have seat.” I took the seat adjacent and sat down unsteadily. My father puffed his pipe in silence before finding the right time to speak. “As you are well aware, Mr Beddoes and I are heading away for the weekend. In light of recent events, I’m not sure if it is in my best interest to leave you here on your own.”

“I-“ My father held his hand up to stop me.

“You’re no longer a child, Victor. I know I musn’t blame Holmes when you’re accountable for your actions.”

“I understand.” Said I, looking down in shame.

“Look me in the eye when I speak to you, Victor.”

I looked up at him with misty-eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Know that you are still my son and though I have every right to throw you out, I’m prepared to forgive you.” He let out a deep sigh. “As long as you promise me this will never happen again.”

I felt my chest tighten and my stomach churn. “In what sense?” I had the audacity to ask.

“What do you mean in what sense? In every sense, my boy!”

“Well, I most certainly won’t steal away with him in the woods or sneak around with him under your roof ever again, but if you believe I won’t ever see him again. Well then.” I scoffed. “You’ve got another thing coming.”

Quick as a flash, father stood and struck me with the back of his hand. “Out!” He bellowed. I held my cheek as it began to throb.

I didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I got up and stormed up to my room, passing by Mr Beddoes who was obviously eavesdropping through the grate in the hall. I glared at the bull elephant as I made my way up the stairs.

I packed my things and reached into my bedside drawer. My blood was boiling with rage and I couldn’t think clearly. I clutched on to the bottle of black ink and pulled it out of the drawer.

Without a second thought I grabbed my suitcase in one hand and the bottle in the other, went straight for the _Lion’s Den_ , walked right up to my father’s favourite lion and emptied the contents of the bottle on the lion’s face. I gave the lion a firm nod and threw the bottle across the room.

I gathered my things and left without so much as a good-bye. I was able to catch the eight o’clock train out to London.

When I arrived at Mycroft’s doorstep, close to midnight, he was surely surprised.

“Come in, come in.” He said stepping aside. “You must excuse me for the state of the place. I wasn’t expecting company at this hour.” I looked around the reception area and couldn’t see what he was going on about; the place was spotless save a tea cup and saucer on the coffee table.

“I didn’t know where else I could go.” I confided in him.

“It’s quite alright.” He said giving me a pat on the shoulder. “Go put your things upstairs, I’ll fix you some tea.”

“I can’t thank you enough.”

“Think nothing of it.” Said he, with a crooked grin.


	14. Chapter 14

_Sherlock Holmes:_

After I had fixed all of Lestrade’s crooked wall hangings, rearranged his silverware drawer, and organized his DVDs I finally felt well enough to leave on my own accord.

“I’m checking out of rehab.” I said making my way to the door.

“You’re still getting over the worst of it. Sit.” He demanded.

“I’m fine; I’m nearly over my withdrawal.”

“Nearly.” He repeated.

“Didn’t you have a date for this evening?”

“Cancelled it.” He said scornfully. “Her name was Destiny.”

“A date with Destiny, how... cute?” I was overwhelmed with boredom and needed an out. “When was the last time you had sex with a man?”

“Piss off!” He shouted.

“I would like to, but you’re blocking the door.”

Lestrade shifted in his chair. “You’d like to know? You’d _really_ like to know?”

“Why else would I ask?”

“1987.” He said falling back into his chair. “Happy?”

“Not really. What was he like?”

“Rubbish.”

“So you’ve had others?”

“God, Sherlock. Would you drop it? It was ages ago. I don’t have to be this nice, you know? Should’ve let you OD'd last night. Wouldn’t have to deal with your snide remarks no more.”

“Move.” I gave up on kindness and began shoving his chair away from the door.

“Fine, go. See if I care.”

“Oh you care, you care very much.” I sneered. “Well do me a favour, _Greg_. Stop it. Just _stop it_.” He gave me a worried look and I mirrored him.

“Have a seat, I’ll get a napkin.”

I held a hand to my nose. Lestrade returned with a wet napkin and began washing my face as if I were a helpless infant.  He finally let me hold the blood stained cloth as he kneeled beside my chair.

“You have got to stop getting so worked up.” I went to speak in my defence and he interrupted me. “Pull you head out of your arse, go to Victor, tell em how you really feel. If you’re trying to avoid heart-break, you’re doing a real piss poor job of it. You can’t keep avoiding him like this or it will tear you to pieces.”

“On one condition.” I said in a nasally tone.

“Anything.”

“You go on that date with Destiny.”

* * *

_Victor Trevor:_

“As destiny would have it, I’m returning home tomorrow afternoon, and I’d be glad to take you with me.”

“Thank heavens.” Said I. After an arduous three days with Mycroft, I was ready to return to the younger Holmes. I have never met a man so keen on sweeping me off my feet.

He was far too bold in his flirting. His body language suggested he was ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. Each day was filled with mini dates. He took time off work just to show me around London. I told him it was very kind of him to go through the trouble of entertaining me but he needn’t have put the whole world on hold.

When I’d catch him looking at me, he’d smile and look away. I was beginning to feel like I was a mouse at the mercy of a playful housecat. Every time I thought I’d broken free of Mycroft, he’d snatch me up and carry on toying with me.

“I really would hate for Holmes to believe he left on bad terms.” Said I, wanting to make sure Mycroft knew I was intent on making amends with his brother. “Have you told him I’ve been staying with you?” From Mycroft’s expression I could tell he hadn’t said a word to his brother. “We must tell him straight away.”

“You wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea, would you?”

“He’ll understand if I’m straightforward with him. If I have nothing to hide, I have nothing to worry about.”

“Honesty is the best policy.” Mycroft quoted, using his tea-cup to hide his disdainful scowl.

On the car ride I felt anxious, anticipating Holmes’ reaction to me arriving with his brother. Surely he wouldn’t be jealous, I thought. I fought off Mycroft and remained faithful to Holmes, so there was no reason he should feel threatened.

The car pulled up around the back and Mycroft stepped out and held my door open for me. While the chauffer was busy with our bags, Mycroft led me up to the veranda around the back. I reached for the door and he grabbed my wrist and donned a devilish grin.

“My brother doesn’t know how good he has it.” When I tried to wrench my arm from his grip he grabbed my other wrist and firmly held it down as he pressed a kiss to my lips.

I let out a startled gasp and tried to pry myself from his grip as he laughed.

 _“_ Bitch!” Was the first word that came to mind. He let go of my wrists, gripped my face tightly, and pressed me against the wall.

He put all his body weight into keeping me pinned to the side of the house as he kissed me hurriedly. He began humming and chuckling under his breath. Every time I’d try shoving him away, he’d press me closer into the wall.

When he let go I was out of breath.

“You musn’t tell Sherlock.” He said mischievously.

“I will, I’ll tell him everything.” I warned, wiping the saliva off my lips. “How you forced yourself on me.”

“Who do you think he’s going to believe? The boy who showed up at his brother’s doorstep or the brother that had it in his heart to return him?” He laughed maniacally and disappeared into the hedges.

I reached out for the door handle and nearly stumbled in when it was opened for me. I sucked in a sharp breath looking up at the unabashedly gorgeous man in front of me. He lifted one eyebrow and regarded me coolly.

“May I help you?” I had never heard such a rich sultry tone come out of man before. I stood in awe, my knees buckled and I nearly fainted in front of the man. And God what a man he was.

“Holmes.” I blurted out.

“Yes?”

“No, I’m looking for...” Blast I couldn’t remember his name. I knew the man before me must be Sherrinford, there was no other explanation. I looked back up at him and felt the colour leave my cheeks.

“You must be Sherlock’s friend.” Said he, with an annoyed sigh. I stood in the doorway as he went to fetch his brother. I thought to myself if Holmes looked like his brother in his thirties, I wouldn’t stand a chance. When Holmes joined his brother in the kitchen I was shocked at the family resemblance.

“Has anyone told you, you two look very much alike.” I said holding on to the door-jam for support. “You make Mycroft look like the fat sheep... black... black sheep.” I said biting my lower lip. The youngest Holmes burst out into laughter.

“Sherlock, stop it, it isn’t kind.” Sherrinford said, fighting back a smile. I found myself swooning and Holmes took notice. He rushed outside and slammed the door shut behind him.

“He’s married.” Holmes hissed.

“I-I... he was-“

“Have you been with Mycroft all this time?”

My eyes went wide at the mention of his name and my stomach turned sour. “Don’t.” I said grabbing his forearm.

“What? Did you plan to have at it with all the Holmeses? Make it a family affair?”

“It isn’t that at all.”

“Me, Mycroft, Sherrinford, would you like access to my father’s tomb so you can have at it with him as well?”

“ _He_ kissed _me_. Not the other way around.” I pleaded.

“Why would you ever go to Mycroft instead of coming straight to me?”

“He gave me his address! I-“

“Spare me your snivelling.”

I felt as if my heart was being torn from my chest. “Please forgive me.”

Holmes grabbed my hand and led me around to the side of the house. “Would you stop crying?” He hissed. I sniffled and wiped away my tears.

“Would you please hear me out?”

“I don’t need to.” He scoffed.

“Please.”

“Stop crying!” He shouted.

“Sherlock!” His mother shouted.

“Oh dear God!” He groaned.

His mother came out of nowhere and tore through the hedges to scold him. “That is no way to speak to your guest!”

“Can’t I have a moment of privacy in or out of this God forsaken house?”

“Oh, Victor was it? Come here dear.” She cooed.

“Mummy, he’s fine.” Holmes growled.

“There is no need to be rude.” She hooked her arm in mine, offering her support. “Do tell all.” Said she, patting my arm. I looked to Holmes for reassurance.

“I’m... I’m afraid I’ve been cast out of my family home.” Said I, fighting back the urge to cry on the woman’s shoulder.

“There, there.” Said she, patting my hand. “You must stay for dinner.” Holmes rolled his eyes and dragged his feet as he walked behind us. We strolled the garden and I felt my nerves calm with every step. “Now, what’s this all about? Surely your father can be reasoned with. Sherly-dear, the gate.” Said she, motioning to the iron barred gate.

Holmes trudged forward to hold the gate for his mother. We entered the labyrinth and Mummy Holmes led me through hedge maze’s twists and turns until we reached a clearing with a gorgeous marble fountain and four stone benches. She sat and patted the seat next to her. Holmes stood by, anxiously waiting for his mother to release me.

She leaned in close as I tried my best to water down my story for her so as not to say anything incriminating that would lead to her son being banished from home as well. It felt as if I had stumbled through the looking-glass with all the madness going on. It made my home look quite sane in comparison. My father only had several hundred stuffed animals in his home; Holmes lived in an absolute loony bin.

“Sherlock, you must apologise to the poor boy’s father at once!” She claimed. The whole story became centred on us stealing his horses; it sounded like a weak excuse to disown one’s only son, but Mummy Holmes fell for it nonetheless.

“No, I can’t return with him. Father is probably still reeling over his prized lion that I ruined.” Said I.

“I can’t tell you how many times Sherlock has destroyed something I held dear in one of his fits.” I looked over to see Holmes blushing as his mother shamelessly embarrassed him. “Once he threw blue paint on my mink coat and I was positively livid, but I did get over it.”

“After she turned me in to father.” Holmes said, gritting his teeth.

“Then there was my mother’s pearls, his father’s favourite watch, the downstairs toilet-“

“Enough.” Holmes groaned.

“Once he even tried to break himself, flying off the second storey banister, don’t you remember Sherly-dear? When-“

“Yes, yes, seven stitches, first ambulance ride, threw up on the EMT. Lovely story, mummy.”

“He’s always been one to disapprove the theory of gravity.” Said she, laughing at Holmes’ expense. “You’ve come at a very exciting time.” She grabbed my hand and smiled. “Sherrinford and his wife are having their first child, any day now!” She gripped my hand ever tighter.

“That’s fantastic news. Is it your first?”

“Yes.” She said excitedly.

“I take it they’ll be moving in, what with the other estate being for... sale...” I noticed too late Holmes’ cues to shut up.

“The estate is what?” She said with a smile still stuck on her face.

“Nothing, mummy, Trevor’s just _confused_.”

“You mean to tell me Sherrinford is selling our family’s estate?” I opened my mouth to speak and mummy Holmes smiled fondly at me. “Sherly-dear, have Sherrinford meet me in the drawing room.” I cringed as I felt her grip tighten. One of her nails dug into the palm of my hand as she looked to Holmes who stood, unmoving. “Now.” She said in a deep voice, unlike her own.


	15. Chapter 15

_Sherlock Holmes:_

“Sherlock, get down here. Now!” John bellowed from downstairs. I straightened my shirt’s collar and gave myself one final look in the mirror. I hurried for the door and rushed downstairs to greet John.

“I can’t stay long.”

“Sherlock, I told you I have news, it will only take a minute.” He grabbed my upper arm and I brushed him off. “Sherlock! It’s not _bad_ news and I’d really like to share it with you before anyone else.”

“Not now, I’m late.” I looked over to see his hair was parted wrong. I was strongly tempted to reach out and fix it for him. “Going out to celebrate?”

“Yes and I wanted to invite you along.”

“With Trevor.”

“I know not to ask.”

“But you thought it.” I said, pulling my coat off the hook. “I’m off then, don’t wait up.” I walked with a spring in my step, ready to face whatever Trevor might have to throw at me.

For whatever reason, he came back to London for me. It took two months of inner turmoil to come to terms with it and I intended to see things through. I hailed a cab and arrived at the Ritz with plenty of time to spare, only to find Trevor waiting for me.

“I said seven.” I gave my wristwatch a tap and held it up to my ear.

“You don’t have to do this.” He said.

“Nonsense.”

“We could have done this at my hotel.”

“I wouldn’t have it. One night. Treat yourself to a bit of luxury.” I said with my best suggestive grin. “Dinner, copious amounts of wine, then upstairs. What say you?” Trevor’s hands were trembling. “Look. Enjoy yourself at my expense.” I pulled back my coat to reveal my tie.

Trevor was brought to tears at the sight. “You never wear a tie.” He sputtered and sobbed.

“Good God man, I’m not holding you at gun-point. It’s just a date.” I held out my handkerchief for him.

“Thank you. It’s just... too much.” He said, wiping his eyes.

We took our seats at the worst table in the house and laughed through the first course.

“I dare you to send something back.” I said looking at our untouched soup.

“If only you had brought your half-frozen rat. Could you imagine telling the waiter we’d found it in our soup.”

“Maybe a handful of Madagascar hissing cockroaches would liven up the place.”

“Holmes, you’re terrible.”

I reached across the table to place my hand on his. “Call me Sherlock.” I turned over his hand to grasp it firmly. “Please.”

“Oh God, you’re going to get me started again.”

I pulled away before he turned into a blubbering mess once more. “I would like to keep this evening gay, if at all possible.” Trevor hid his face behind his hand and laughed. I looked to his full wine glass and pretended not to notice, leaving mine untouched as well.

Neither of us could stomach the first course.

“Shall we head in for the night?” I offered and Trevor gratefully accepted. Trevor leaned on me in the lift and I tried my best not to make him feel awful for doing so. We reached the room and I gagged at the sight of it. “Pink!” I scoffed.

Trevor laughed and headed straight for the bed. “Don’t you feel terrible about mocking my mother’s choice in decor all those years ago?” He asked with a yawn. He closed his eyes gently and I allowed him to rest.

I fidgeted nervously. I felt a tear ran down my cheek and I quickly brushed it away. I found my hand was trembling violently.

“Settle down.” I told myself. I clenched my teeth and fought to quiet my mind. Without the aid of alcohol I had nothing to soothe the savage beast.

I had never felt so much pain. It hurt to look at Trevor sleeping peacefully in the hotel bed. I couldn’t bear to look at him, yet I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

I didn’t want to know, I wanted to be blissfully unaware. I wanted to wake up in the morning and not hate myself. More tears escaped and I felt as if my throat was closing, making it difficult to breathe.

Significant weight loss, at least a stone and a half in two months. Quit tennis, increasing weakness. Complete loss of appetite. The alcohol.

I cradled my head in my arms, willing it to stop. I rocked back and forth in my chair until I couldn’t hold back any longer. I collapsed on to the floor and held my breath. I suppressed my urge to scream out in agony and curse God. I squirmed and kicked until I went unconscious.

Years of training as a child conditioned me to hold my breath long enough to knock myself out. I reserved it for rare occasions when I needed to escape from something un-escapable. It frightened my mother to no ends and worked on John once or twice. The only problem was I would wake up with an excruciating headache and I couldn’t always remember why I threw a fit in the first place.

I sat up on the floor and found Trevor silently reading in bed. I crawled over to the bed and pulled myself up. I fell forward and landed at Trevor’s feet with an open mouthed moan.

“Forced yourself to pass out?” He asked looking at me with what I thought was sympathy but I couldn’t quite tell through the haze. He put down his book and crawled over to start rubbing my back. “Trying to forget something?”

“Mm. I forgot.”

“It worked well then.” He said with a chuckle. I suddenly felt nauseous and Trevor held the bin out for me in anticipation. He’d been through it all before and he’d seen me far worse; worse than Lestrade could imagine.

I retched into the bin several times. “I’m ready to talk.” I said after I was sure the contents of my stomach were completely empty.

“In the morning.”

“No.” I said with a groan as I sat up to face him once and for all. “You came back and I want to know why.”

“To say good-bye.”

* * *

_Victor Trevor:_

“I never said good-bye!” I shouted out through my tears. We were all gathered in the drawing room. I was crying in front of complete strangers and I didn’t give a damn.

“He hasn’t passed away, Victor. You can still say your good-byes.” Mrs Holmes was trying her best to comfort me but the news was too much to handle.

“How could this have happened?” I placed my head in my hands and let my tears flow freely. “It’s all my fault!” I shouted.

“Now, you musn’t blame yourself.” Mrs Holmes gently patted my back and held my hand.

“It was too much for him to bear!”

“Don’t be an idiot. You couldn’t have caused your father’s stroke.” Holmes sneered.

“Sherlock.” Mycroft scolded.

“The man obviously had more pressing things on his mind. Like an arterial embolism.”

Sherrinford yanked Holmes out of the room by his arm and I could hear them shouting in the hall.

Mycroft slammed his fist on the coffee table. “What are we waiting for? The boy should be with his father when these could be his final hours!” He shouted. I looked up at Mycroft in surprise.

“I’m coming with.” Holmes shouted from the hall. I was in too much of a shock to protest as half of the Holmes family piled in the car and took me out to Norfolk to see my father in his last few hours.

Holmes was jittery on the train ride; he kept standing to stretch his legs and roam the cabin. Mycroft stayed by my side. I hadn’t yet forgiven him for throwing himself at me, but I was coming around to it.

We arrived at Donnithrope in record time and the vicar led me upstairs to my father’s room. I passed by the _Lion’s Den_ and felt a lump form in my throat.

My father’s room was dark and gloomy. The room was painted in a dark, forest green, with dim lighting. He kept a painting of a snarling tiger above the head of his bed. Mr Beddoes sat in the chair beside my father’s bed and held his limp hand.

“Why have they released him?” I asked, grabbing his other hand.

“It was always his last wish to die in his own home.”

“He should be in the hospital.” I clutched on to my father’s hand and prayed he’d speak to me. “This isn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want to die in _bed_. He wanted to be mauled to death by a Bengal tiger!” I clutched on to his arm and laid my head to rest beside him.

The vicar ushered Mr Beddoes out of the room so I could say my last words to my father. “Not like this.” I told him. “Not like this.” I begged.

He struggled for his last breaths. I heard his death rattle and stayed until he drew his last breath. I left his room and shut the door slowly. I walked past Mycroft who was sitting outside with Mr Beddoes and headed straight for the stairs when I spotted an odd sight.

“Holmes. What are you doing?” I asked walking into the _Lion’s Den._

“Good as new.” Said he, patting the lion on the face. He had scrubbed every trace of the ink out of the lion’s hide. I fell into Holmes’ arms and cried into his shoulder. He hushed me and we began swaying back and forth in a sort of dance.

My temples pounded as my tears dried. We stood swaying in the _Lion’s Den_ for what felt like ages. I nearly fell asleep on my feet from sheer exhaustion.

Everything was moving too fast. Mycroft left to return to work in London, Mr Beddoes left to start making the necessary calls, the estate attorney arrived with a copy of my father’s last will and testament, and Holmes was my rock through it all.

“Read it.” I said handing him the will. “I just can’t.”

“I, James Trevor, being of sound mind, declare this to be my Last Will and Testament. I revoke all wills and codicils previously made by me...” Holmes stopped. “Mm, no, Trevor. This isn’t right.”

“What is it?” I asked nervously.

He thumbed his way down the will. “All of which is attested to this 18th day of February, 1993.”

“He’s changed it.”

“Within the last year.”

“Since he’s been threatened.”

Holmes held the Will up to the lighting. “Somehow I don’t believe this was the work of animal rights activists.”

“We can’t let them get away with this.”


	16. Chapter 16

_Sherlock Holmes:_

“I won’t let you get away with this.” I said pacing the floor. “You can’t just _die_.”

“Holmes, I’m afraid you don’t know how cancer works.”

“You didn’t come here just to say good-bye. You knew full well that you could raise the funds with this new job. So what’s happened? Hm? You can’t have possibly spent it all. Surely you have enough-“

“Sherlock.” He interrupted, rubbing his forehead. “I didn’t get the job. I’ve been living out of my own pocket. They brought me out for an interview and gave it to someone else.”

“They strung you along for weeks.” I was outraged. “They invited you out to _tennis._ ”

“It’s not the worst thing they could have done.”

“How long?” I stopped pacing and waited for his answer.

“How long what?”

I looked at him pointedly. He knew exactly what I meant and there was no use in skirting around the issue now that it was out in the open.

“Three months.” He said.

I took in a deep breath. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve spoken with the best. I’m sure.”

“The best in India, perhaps. What about here, who-“ I was cut off by his expression. “Good God man! Were you just going to come here to roll over and die?”

“I don’t need a fourth or fifth opinion!” He cried out.

“Shut up, just shut up.” I said turning away to focus. I heard him start blubbering. “God, I meant shut up in a... ‘nice way’. Don’t cry about it.”

“I don’t want it to end like this.”

I took a seat on the side of his bed and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not allowed to die. I won’t have it.”

“Well unless you’ve got the cure for cancer in your back-pocket...”

I felt my back-pocket and thought. “No, but I do have it in my coat pocket. Wait here.”

“What in God’s name could you have in your coat pocket?”

“My mobile phone. Trevor, you might have a chance yet.” I grabbed my phone and placed the call right away. “I may not have the tried and true cure for cancer but I know someone who does.”

“And who’s that?”

“My brother.” I held the phone to my ear and listened to his hold music. After a minute of waiting I ended the call and restrained from throwing the mobile against the wall.

“What does your brother have that you don’t?”

“Money.”

* * *

_Victor Trevor:_

“It’s about the money isn’t it?” I asked Holmes as he searched through my father’s desk drawers.

“Of course. Isn’t it always?” He popped up on to his feet with a drawer in hand. He placed it on the desktop and started removing its contents. He ran his finger along its velvet interior.

“What’s so special about this one?”

“Notice how its bottom isn’t as deep as the drawer. There’s a false bottom hidden here somewhere. I just have to... Ah-ha!” He shouted removing the bottom of the drawer to reveal a hidden compartment.

“How could you have possibly known?”

“It was a shot in the dark and a rather good one at that.” He pulled out a stack of postcards and a hand-written message. He thumbed through the postcards as I read through the message.

“Japan, New Zealand, Australia, North America. Did your father ever mention visiting anywhere other than Africa?”

“No.”

He returned to the postcards. “What was your mother’s maiden name?”

“Williams.”

“I thought so.” Said he, placing the postcards on the desk. “The only clue he has left on these cards is the initials J.A. written on each of them.”

“A lover?”

“Not likely, the initials are written in the signature line. These were never meant to be sent out. The initials mark ownership.”

“Well my father’s first name is James but I don’t see where the A comes from. Men don’t have maiden names.”

“That they don’t.” Holmes said stacking up the postcards. “Let me see the letter.”

“It’s a bunch of nonsense.” Said I, handing him the hand-written letter.

“Smythson.” Said he, looking it over. He held the letter in his open palm. “Good weight.” He grabbed a magnifying glass off my father’s desk and began scanning the letter closely. “The handwriting is distinct from the postcards. Tell me Trevor, is this your father’s handwriting?”

“No, but I believe the initials written on the postcards are.”

“Obviously.”

“What does it mean? The letter?”

Holmes stood up straight and held the letter up to the light.

“New gamekeeper Hudson is ill; told Evans we all are to run at dawn for more than your sake. Hope life is well. The Western Norfolk game proved it is on the up.” He read monotonously.

“Gibberish.” Said I.

“Brilliance.” Said he. “Now who are Hudson and Evans?”

“Old shipmates?” I suggested. Truly I had never known anyone from my father’s past other than Mr Beddoes. “What about Mr Beddoes?”

“Something tells me he’s not to be trusted.”

“Could he have done this to my father?”

“Trevor, anything could have caused your father’s untimely death. A good shock, a rise in his blood pressure, could have...” Holmes let the sentence hang in mid-air. “Blame physiology. No one event did him in.”

“But you cannot deny what I have done to him made his underlying condition that much worse!”

“Focus on the task at hand. Why would your father leave everything to your late sister when he had only just written this new will one year ago?”

“Who will be her beneficiary if she isn’t alive to assign one?”

“No one, the fortune is therefore tied to the estate and must go through probate.”

“Where does the money go?”

“To whomever the executor sees fit according to your father’s will.”

“I’m his only heir. I don’t see why the land and the money from the account would not go directly to me.” I held my head in shame. “It isn’t greed. I swear.”

“I understand.” Said Holmes.

“They’ll sell the estate, won’t they? To evenly divide the funds. I know there’s nothing in that will leaving me anything. I suppose I’m not even mentioned.” Holmes shook his head solemnly. “And who has my father appointed as executor? Please tell me it isn’t Mr Beddoes.”

“No.” Said he.

“Oh thank God.” Said I. “Well... if he hasn’t appointed one, it would be his next of kin, right? That would mean I would be the one to-“

“He has appointed an administrator.”

“Who could he have possibly appointed?”

“The gamekeeper.”


	17. Chapter 17

_Sherlock Holmes:_

“Do you truly believe that I keep that much cash on hand? Ah yes, here, let me open the vault underneath my desk and make a withdrawal for you.”

“I don’t need it all up front.” I made my plea without begging on my hands and knees. I hated to grovel in front of my brother. “I only need sixty thousand to begin with.”

“To begin with?” His laugh came from the absolute depths of his chest. “Surely, you must be joking. And another three-hundred thousand on top of that?”

“When all is said and done, yes.”

“I don’t have _that_ kind of money.” He scoffed.

“What kind of money do you have then? The kind that sits prim and proper in a bank, never meaning to be spent?”

“In fact-“

“Please. A man’s life depends on it.”

Mycroft tapped his fingers on his desk. “And what could he possibly need that costs so much upfront? A home in the countryside?”

“Mycroft, I said please.”

Mycroft turned towards the window and chuckled. “Your crocodile tears bear no weight on my conscience.” When he turned back I couldn’t conceal it. “Why wouldn’t John come to me himself?”

My words became lodged in my throat as I choked out, “It isn’t John.”

“For God’s sake, here.” Mycroft shoved a box of Kleenex into my hands. “Now, stop it.” He looked away from me, tapped his fingers on his desk, and gritted his teeth. “How long?”

“Three months.”

“I need time, Sherlock.”

“You can have the money here by tomorrow.” I reminded him.

“Which is it? Lung or liver?”

“Liver.”

Mycroft scratched at his forehead. “I’ll see to it he’s first on the list. Just promise me you’ll keep out of the black-market. What about other treatments?”

“I should have enough to cover it.”

“Realistically, how long can you give me?”

“Nine months.”

“I shall have to you in six.” Mycroft placed his hand on the windowsill and scowled at the world. “And don’t you dare come crawling to me if his body rejects it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” That was as much sentiment I was going to get out of my brother that day. I left in a hurry to sterilize Baker Street for Trevor’s arrival.

I found John waiting for me on the front step, ready to knock on the door.

“Good, you’re here. You can help scrub the ceiling.” I pulled John inside before he had time to gather his thought. “On second thought, perhaps you should stick to the floors.”

“Sherlock, would you give me two seconds to tell you what I’ve been meaning to tell you?”

“That’s nice, John. Here put on this and these.” I said as I handed him a new gas mask and nitrile gloves. We fumigated the entire flat, killing off anything remotely living, and I even went so far as to clean out the fridge of all stuffs, edible or otherwise. Fortunately John was there to help me part with some of my less prized possessions.

“Why would you ever need a calcified toad?” He said through the ventilator. If I had to think about it for more than a moment, it ended up in the bin with the other rubbish I had been holding on to for far too long.

I felt no relief at the end of a long day of work on the flat.

“It isn’t enough.” I said pulling off my mask. I sucked in the crisp night’s air.

“You know after Mary hears about this she’ll want us to do our house next.” John laughed removing his mask. He let out a sigh and ran a hand through his sweaty hair, making it stand on end. “Any reason we did all of that?”

“I wanted a fresh start.”

“You know the second we step back in that flat-“

“Our day’s work will be undone, I know.” I let out a sigh and took a seat on the cold hard ground with my back against the wall. “Two steps forward, three steps back.”

“Can I tell you the good news now?”

“What? Oh yes. Sure.” I said feeling very out of shape. John was silent for a while, gauging my expression. “Well, out with it.”

“We’re having a baby.”

There was so much I could have said regarding the subject of John and his wife being pregnant, but instead I simply said, “Congratulations.”

“You’re the first of our friends to know.” John waited for my reply. He looked up at the sky and let out a slow breath. “Any comments? Snide remarks?”

“Victor is dying.”

John’s back hit the wall and he slid down beside me.

“Liver cancer.” I said to the air. John knew the value of silence. He was a true friend when things mattered the most. We sat outside until Mrs Hudson came home and began making threats to our well-being if we had done anything to compromise her flat.

“I could stay if you like.” John offered.

“I’d like some time alone, if you don’t mind.”

“So would I. We could be alone together.”

I nodded in agreement and we returned upstairs to desterilize the room through passive diffusion. John sat in his chair, lost in thought, and I took to the sofa, waiting for my own train of thought to take me far away.

* * *

_Victor Trevor:_

“Notice the way his hands never fully close, it’s the result of rope burn calluses, distinctive of seamen.”

I sputtered a laugh and Holmes gave me a scornful look. “I’m sorry, Holmes.” It felt good to laugh after a week of mourning. The gameskeeper had called Mr Beddoes and me into the library to give his preliminary proposal on how the estate should be divided up. I brought Holmes along to watch the proceedings although Mr Beddoes protested.

The estate attorney sat in and followed along in the will as the gamekeeper, Mr Hughes, read out loud.

“I devise, bequeath, and give my collection of rare and exotic East African animals to Mr Edmund Beddoes. I devise, bequeath, and give my horses and hunting dogs to Mr Jack Hughes. I devise, bequeath...” My father doled out every last one of his prized possessions to Mr Beddoes and the gamekeeper. Anything set aside for my late sister was to be put up for auction, including all of my mother’s jewellery and fine china.

An idiot could see what was going on before me. Hughes and Beddoes were in cahoots, divvying up my father’s property according to a fake will. When all was said and done, I had absolutely nothing in means of material possessions. The rest of the estate would be divided four ways between myself, Mr Hughes, Mr Beddoes, and the church.  

I went straight to my father’s estate attorney and brought up my concerns with the will.

“How could a man of sound mind rewrite his will to proclaim his soul beneficiary as his deceased daughter ten years after her death?” Said I, pointing to the date on which the will was signed. “I would like to see prior versions of my father’s will.”

“He didn’t have any filed.” The attorney said nervously.

“That’s impossible! The man stated that he was revoking all previous wills, so it that could only mean he left another version of the will!”

“This is the will we have on file and it is the will that will go to probate court. Now good-day, sir.”

Before I let the accusations start flying, I left the library to get some fresh air.

“They can’t do this!” I cried out to Holmes.

“You’re still getting a quarter of the estate.”

“While those two take over all of my father’s assets? He had several millions in assets alone! Why would he leave everything to his neighbour and gamekeeper and not his only son?”

“Shall we ask Hudson and Evans?”

“Do you believe they’re them?” I whispered as I looked through the crack in the door to see Mr Beddoes and Mr Hughes still talking things over in the library. “If we could prove that they somehow forced my father into writing the will or even prove that they’ve changed their names!” I threw my head back against the wall. “I don’t know.” Said I, with a slight moan.

“Well don’t give up now, not when things are really starting to get fun.”

“Fun? Fun! You believe this is all a game, don’t you? Well I have news for you, the game is up.”

“The game is up.” He repeated.

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

He searched his pocket and furrowed his brows. He pulled out the letter to my father. “The Western Norfolk game proved it is on the up. The game is up.”

“Holmes, I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Read every third word.”

“Hudson... told... all... run for your life... the game is up.”

“I do believe we have a scandal on our hands.” Holmes said excitedly rubbing his hands together.

“Holmes, calm down, it isn’t decent.” I laughed at his enthusiasm.

“After I’m done with them, they won’t receive a penny of your father’s fortune.”

I couldn’t help but kiss the man, right then and there. I doubted he could pull it off, though I really hoped he could. I was just grateful that he would be by my side throughout it all.


	18. Chapter 18

_Sherlock Holmes:_

“You can leave my side for more than two minutes, you know.” Trevor was sprawled out in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, fighting cancer. “I hate this.”

“Oh God, don’t say that the doctors might overhear and think you’re not having a ‘positive outlook’.”

“Are you going to report me to the ‘positive outlook’ police?” He said with a grimace as he tried to suppress a laugh. He began to shiver and clench his teeth. “I just want it to be over with.”

“Just lie still and quit complaining.” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Please, it hurts to laugh.”

The side effects were supposed to be _mild_ they said. Rubbish doctors, I’d like to see them go through a chemoembolisation and tell me the how charming the side effects are compared to systemic chemotherapy. It’s just like a lovely stroll in the park having a catheter shoved up your thigh and bent around into your liver. Yes and we should all look on the bright side of life.

Why they couldn’t stick to radiofrequency ablation was beyond me. It was as if his team of doctors’ soul purpose in life was to make him as miserable as possible before he either found a donor or died. Unfortunately I was the one that opted for a radical approach and Trevor went along with it willingly.

My mind tortured me with the thought of the cancer spreading; then all would have been for naught. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing all of my hard work. Mycroft needed to hurry up with a liver or I was going to go looking for one myself.

“I want to be sick in my own bed!” Trevor shouted with a loud moan.

I stormed out to the nurse’s lobby where they were all standing about clucking like mother hens in the coop. “For God’s sake! The man has lost his ‘positive outlook’ on life give him some drugs before he keels over!”

“He’s-“

“I don’t care! Load him up!” I demanded. I followed one of the nurses and made certain she brought him his painkillers promptly. “No, no!” I shouted. “Not Morphine! Valium! My God, I should have your job for this. Now move along.”

“But-“

“I don’t care if he goes into la la land and neither does he, anything is better than what he’s experiencing now.” I pushed her into the room without physically touching her and watched as she administered the drug into his IV. “Now was that so hard?”

“I-“

“Run along now.” I said dismissing her. “Better?” I asked Trevor as the nurse scurried away.

“You really could be nicer to the nurses.”

“I could be nicer to a lot of people.” I looked out the window and pressed my head against the glass. It was a dreadfully cold and dreary day with not a spot of sunshine in sight. I pined desperately to be outside, running through the streets, giving chase, having adrenalin pump through my veins. Instead I was stuck inside with indolent nurses and countless doctors that charged by how many syllabus were in their title. The gastroenterologist must have made a killing on Trevor’s misfortune.

I turned and found Trevor reaching out into the air.

“Chasing down the floaters in your vision?” I asked, feeling quite bored myself. He nodded and continued his meaningless pursuit.

“Are we done yet?” He asked.

“I don’t think they’ll let you go until you catch one.”

Trevor’s hand fell from midair and slapped on to his face. “I’ve got it. Now can we go back to tube-tube-one-beeble Street?”

I walked over and took a seat on his bedside. “Get some sleep, you look awful.” I said as I looked him over. At the very least he wasn’t as jaundice but he was terribly thin and sickly looking, not at all like himself.

I was tired of the nights spent in, forcing him to eat, watching crap telly, listening to him retch into the toilet constantly. This cancer was more of an annoyance than anything and with the way it was eating away at my funds, I had no hope for retiring comfortably.

I could only hope John’s child would put up with me in my old age, which wasn’t far off. I anticipated becoming senile in my mid-sixties, allowing John Junior to finish his degree without giving him enough time to settle down with a family. I did want to be well looked after, after all.

I’d seen Mary far too many times for my liking since John told her of Trevor’s diagnoses. She was taking the weight-gain a bit too seriously and was eating for two well before necessary. John was already playing the part of the manically depressed father; going grey from worry. Luckily they had paired me off with Trevor, so they needn’t worry about me calling on John to occupy my time. Not with the new baby on the way.

“It had better be a boy.” I said out loud. I had a lie down in Trevor’s bed and curled up against him. He smelled just like home, a mixture of oxidized iron and various alkaloid compounds seeped out of his sweat as he lay watching the clock’s second hand tick away.

It wasn’t long before I was out like a light.

We left the next morning and were greeted with a warm welcome from an empty flat. I let out a sigh of relief and fell on to the sofa.

Trevor headed straight for the toilet and began retching violently. After ten minutes of continuous vomiting, I got up to check if he was still making it into the toilet.

Trevor clung on to the toilet’s seat for support and pressed his face against the porcelain. “I want to die.” He said as his face contorted. “I can’t do this anymore.” He cried. “I know you’re trying.” He sobbed and sputtered a cough.

I sat on the floor, pressed my back against the wall, and bounced the back of my head off it with several loud thuds. “I’m sick of it!” I shouted. “Day in and day out I’m supposed to have a cheery attitude! What good has it done you?”

Trevor ripped off a scrap of toilet paper and blew his nose. “This is you cheery and optimistic?” He asked dryly. “I’d hate to see you in your true form.” He laughed with a wince. “I’m sorry I’m in such a mood. I’d never wish this on my worst enemy.”

“Why not? It seems the fitting punishment.” I slid down until my feet were touching the adjacent wall. “I fail to see why you’re the one that deserves it.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’d gladly take your place.” I said tapping my foot on the wall. “Watching you suffer through it is far worse.”

“God, what would your brother say if he overheard you?”

“It’s been three months and you’re alive. I’d say caring gave you slightly better prospects, don’t you believe?”

Trevor slid down on the floor and let out a sigh. “If you say so.”

* * *

_Victor Trevor:_

“Say it isn’t so.” I gazed out my bedroom window watching the guests arrive for my father’s wake and spotted my great aunt with the Dean in tow. “What is _he_ doing here?” Holmes rolled out of bed and walked up behind me. He placed a hand on my shoulder and stretched. “Holmes, put some pants on someone might see.” Said I, fretting about the day’s events.

Holmes looked down at himself as if he had forgotten he was naked. He ran his hands through his hair and yawned. He moved slowly to his suitcase and dug through his clothes.

I made my way over to take a seat on the edge of the bed while I pulled on my socks and prepared myself to stand by my father’s casket. “I don’t know why Mr Beddoes doesn’t do the honours. Or perhaps Mr Hughes would like to accept everyone’s condolences on my behalf. They certainly don’t mind robbing a dead man blind.” I pulled on my sock so forcefully my toes went straight through. “Bastards, bloody bastards, all of them.” I cursed.

Holmes only grunted in response.

“I didn’t mean to take it out on you last night.”

“S’fine.” He slurred.

“Get dressed.”

Holmes turned away from his suitcase and came back to bed. He crawled in and drew the covers up to his ears.

“Don’t make me go alone.” I crawled on all fours over to him and rolled him on to his back. “When else will you have the opportunity to cross-examine my father’s friends?” I asked, trying to pry him from my warm bed. “We can alert my aunt to what’s going on.”

“We musn’t raise suspicions until we gather enough evidence.” Holmes said in a bored monotone.

“And we are never going to gather that evidence lying around in bed all day.”

“We need to employ a spy. Beddoes and Hughes would never let anything slip with you in earshot, nor would they openly discuss your father’s affairs with me. An interrogation would be pointless.” He rolled over and began sulking.

“We should call the police.”

“On what grounds?”

“Murder.”

Holmes snorted a laugh. “His death was convenient for them, it wasn’t _murder._ ”

“It all feels so surreal.” Stated I. “I just feel like it isn’t true; that it can’t be true. I cannot believe he would leave me like this.”

Holmes reached out his hand and I gripped it firmly. “It will do you no good to go downstairs in your state.”

“I’m sorry if I’m distraught!” I said scornfully. “Sometimes you can be so un-human, it frightens me.”

“Do you _really_ want to stand down there and listen to people tell you how _sorry_ they are for you? They will be down there telling all sorts of stories you had never heard about your father and you’ll come to the realization that you hardly knew the man and for the rest of your life you’ll regret not having him tell you those stories instead of complete strangers.” Holmes sat up in bed and looked me in the eye. “Don’t you want to remember him as he was? Exuberant and full of life; not some corpse in a casket.”

I’ll admit; I was nervous about viewing my father’s body once more. I truly didn’t want to see him in his best suit, beautified by the mortician, with stage lighting illuminating his pale flesh. I wanted to live in my dream world, where my father was still alive, only he was down the hall, puffing away at his pipe, and looking over his prized possessions.

I nodded in agreement and wiped away my tears. Holmes lay back down and turned away from me. I lay beside him and held him in a close embrace. I pressed my ear against his back and listened to him breathe. I gripped his hand firmly and held it to his heart.  I was grateful for his warmth though his words were cold.

There came a knock at my door and a sat straight up.

“Holmes, you must get dressed.” I begged. “I’m a dead man if Mr Beddoes sees us like this.”

“On the bright side they wouldn’t have to hold two funerals. It would save a lot of people the time and- ow!” Homes winced as I punched him in the arm. Holmes rubbed at his arm and got up and out of bed.

“I didn’t mean to-“

“I’m fairly sure I deserved it.” Said he, rolling his arm at the shoulder. He began getting dressed and I went to answer the door. It was none other than our faithful Cook.

“Mr Beddoes is done there, making an awful show, crying a river.”

“And what about Mr Hughes?” Asked I.

“Man keeps standing by the door, all nervous like. Like he’s ready to dart at a moment’s notice.” Cook looked toward the ground. “It’s a real shame bout your da. He was a good man.”

“I am so sorry.” Said I, coming to a stark realisation. “What will you do now that the estate is up for sale?”

“Not too sure. Ain’t much work out there for me. Cook’s seem to be a dying breed.”

“This is wrong. I know my father would never leave so much to chance. Beddoes and Hughes are obviously in on this together. Don’t you agree?”

“Your father was good friends with Mr Beddoes, there’s no doubt about that.”

“But Mr Hughes? The gamekeeper?”

“Two of em never could stand the sight of each other.” She chuckled. “Mr Hughes was always after a position higher up. Demanding his wages be increased. Taking out your father’s favourite gun and going on his own hunts. And the drinking! Oh that man is always drinking some noxious concoction, cursing under his breath, scowling at the visitors.”

“But you said today he’s on his toes, ready to dash at a moment’s notice?” Holmes asked, coming out from behind the dressing screen. He buttoned his cuffs and pulled down his sleeves. “Perhaps it wasn’t Beddoes’ idea after all.” He fixed his collar and fussed with his hair while he gave me a strange look. “Well, are you not getting dressed?”

“You said we weren’t going.”

Holmes turned to Cook “There’s to be a luncheon, isn’t that correct Mrs...”

“Cook.”

“Mrs Cook...” Holmes gave me a brief glance. “Well if that isn’t irony I don’t know what is. Come along, Trevor. There’s little to do and too much time to do it in.”

Before I had adequate time to ponder his statement, Holmes left with Cook in tow while I was still half-dressed. I got ready, quick as a flash, and rushed downstairs to find Holmes chatting away with various guests.

I approached him from the side and noticed his eyes were moist from tears.

“Have you been crying?” I asked in disbelief.

“Tears draw out the best stories. Nothing like a good guilt trip to set people on a path down memory lane.”

“Yes, but won’t all their stories be over-romanticised with you carrying on like this?”

“There’s more truth to be drawn from lies than there has ever been from straight facts.” Holmes straightened up and scanned the room. “Your father was once a justice of the peace.”

“Until my mother’s passing, yes.”

“From an untreated heart condition.” Said he, with a hum.

“You don’t sound convinced.” Said I.

“Why would your father go into hiding shortly after his wife’s death?”

“Grief?”

“Fear.”


	19. Chapter 19

_Sherlock Holmes:_

“I fear I’m getting worse.” Trevor said, clutching on to his tea-cup.

“Do you need to be in excruciating pain to feel better?”

“No.” He took a sip of tea and smiled. “No thank you.”

“I don’t know how you can drink that. I swear I can taste it from here.” I grimaced as he took another sip of Masala Chai.

“It tastes like Christmas.” He set his cup down and stretched out. “And it’s infinitely better than that bath water you call tea.”

“It is an efficient vessel for sugar.” I made note of him rubbing at his upper abdomen. Mycroft was taking his time finding a suitable donor and was well past the six month mark. My own patience was wearing thin. “John has invited us out for dinner.”

Trevor ran his hands down his face. “Do we have to tempt fate? The last thing I want to do is end up glued on to someone else's toilet." 

“I told him no.”

“Sherlock, you can’t.” He groaned.

“Would you prefer I say yes and cancel at the last moment?”

“It _is_ the polite thing to do.” Trevor said with a sad laugh. “Invite him over. We’ll do dinner here.”

“Ah yes we’ll have them over for condiments and crisps.”

“Don’t forget the bulk protein shakes.” He closed his eyes and grinned. “I suppose John was the one who did all the shopping?”

“I really do wish you’d find time in your busy schedule to do the shopping.”

“Brat.”

“I’ve been called far worse.”

“I must make a terrible replacement for John.”

“You could never replace John.” After an hour of silence I decided I had worded my statement wrong. I looked over to the sofa to see Trevor had left quite some time ago. I stood up and scanned the parlour. At least he’d had the decency to put his cup in the sink.

I checked my watch; more time had passed than I thought. I was going to be in trouble; hopefully only with Trevor, but likely with John as well.

Trevor’s wallet and the spare key were missing from their normal resting spot which could only mean he went to John. I couldn’t possibly begin to understand the man’s motives. He certainly wasn’t going to harm John, which would be justifiable given the circumstances. No, he was seeking John’s consoling, although John was the source of his grief.

I went to check my phone’s messages and ended up tied up in roughly twelve different affairs. I kept Trevor in the back of my mind, knowing he was in good hands, and set about fixing dinner. I quickly abandoned dinner in favour of compounding rose Bengal agar for future use when I noticed I was low on corn meal agar as well.

When I found we were fresh out of corn meal I called for John and when I received no response after a third shout, I dropped everything and went to bed. There was no use in hiding it, I missed my former flatmate. Things just weren’t the same, it was as if I had lost my left arm. I was still able to function without the feeble, non-dominant, clumsy appendage, but occasionally two hands are better than one.

I allowed my mind a twenty minute recharge and woke up not wanting to do much of anything. I gathered my thoughts, prioritised my actions, and considered my biological needs first and foremost. When I made an attempt to sit up I was brought back down with a dizzying headache.

I should have taken John up on his offer for dinner. I racked my brains trying to remember why I didn’t. Then I remembered John’s wife and Trevor, which should never be allowed to interact. The congeniality between the two was sickening to say the least.

I preferred not to hear about every detail of Trevor’s disease when I’d heard it all before, ad nauseam. Then of course there was John’s wife’s pregnancy which I really didn’t care for. I’d like to see the end product rather than hear about the intermediate. I especially didn’t want to think about what had initiated this whole pregnancy in the first place. Something about the thought of John procreating didn’t meld well with my psyche.

Trevor was showing improvement which was a cause for celebration in everyone’s minds. It goes without saying I was not excited by the news. A partial remission was not good enough. He needed a transplant before the cancer decided to spread. I wish I could say it was always in the back of my mind, but the thought of it had manifested my conscious thought, making me aloof and irritable.

By dawn’s light I felt a twinge of concern when Trevor hadn’t returned. I decided it was about time I bartered for his return. I pulled out my mobile and composed a simple message:

**Come back –SH**

I let my mobile ring and rolled my eyes at John’s immediate response. “Well?” I answered. There was an audible pause on the other end. “I’m on my way.”

John replied with a very strained, “Okay.” And I knew it was worse than I had imagined.

* * *

_Victor Trevor:_

“This is worse than I could have possibly imagined.” Said I, pacing my bedroom floor. Holmes was in one of his mid-day trances, meditating or whatever he called it. “I just cannot believe someone would do such a thing, especially not one of my father’s friends. And if he knew about it, why did he stay so close with them?” I looked at the letter once more and sure enough it was dated the twelfth of May, 1983, only a week before my mother’s passing.

“Cyanide.” Holmes stated. “She was a small woman, just under a tenth of a gram would have been enough to do her in. Coma, seizures, pulmonary oedema, cardiac arrest. Do you have a copy of the autopsy report?”

“There wasn’t one.”

“What... do you mean... there wasn’t one?” He asked slowly. “They would have surely-“

“They didn’t.”

“A woman in her early thirties dies unexpectedly in her home and there is no investigation to rule out foul play?

“My father didn’t want her dissected. He said he’d had enough heart-ache for one lifetime.”

“Yes and then your sister-“

“Holmes... not now.”

“I’m certain your sister wasn’t murdered.”

“That... that doesn’t make me feel any better.” I took a seat on the edge of my bed and rubbed my forehead. “Why would anyone do that to my mother?”

“If it was meant to scare your father, he would have run away; cast Hughes and Beddoes out of his life and would have never returned. However, if she knew something, because Hudson 'told all'...”

“What are you going on about?” I was agitated by his enigmatic speech.

“Hudson told someone everything about a secret that your father shares with either Mr Beddoes or Mr Hughes.”

“Either?”

“Well obviously one is Hudson.”

“Obviously.” I repeated with a huff.

“That someone must have been your mother.”

“Why then, would father need to ‘run for his life’ if it were my mother that found out?”

“It must have been something so dreadful she would threaten to turn in the father of her children. Run for your life could very well mean he was facing life in prison.”

“That isn’t enough grounds to murder one's wife!”

“Isn’t it? Love is a vicious motivator. Imagine a man at his rope’s end, anticipating his wife leaving and taking all he held dear away from him.”

“If he loved her, why would he kill her?” Holmes stared blankly at me, expecting me to answer my own question. “So who knew?”

“Evans, only he’d never turn your father in, in fear your father would drag him down along with him. Hudson on the other hand has nothing to lose and everything to gain.”  

“So what is their master plan?”

“To liquidize the estate and all of your father’s belongings and for the grand finale Hudson plans to kill Evans and make off with all the money.”

“We should get the police involved; this is way beyond the scope of two young men.”

“The police won’t take action. What proof do we have? The two men downstairs are performing a daylight robbery but there’s no evidence that suggests they’re doing anything illegal. As I see it you have two choices: one you go along with it and accept what has been given to you.”

“We both know that is out of the question. What’s the other option?”

“We expose the truth and risk losing everything.”

It was quite the dilemma, take the money and let the grave robbers get away with it, or ensure that nobody profited from my father’s passing. I looked to Holmes for guidance. It felt as if he was the only thing keeping me tethered to the ground.

“What should I do?” I fell back on to the bed, defeated.

“Simple, take the money.”

“How could you say that?” I sat up to confront him. “It would be a dishonour to my mother’s memory to allow those men to go free. Oh...” Said I, coming to a realisation. “Reverse psychology?”

“No, you really should consider taking the money and securing your future. It would be foolish not to.”

“Then I’m a fool.” I said resolutely.

“Fine, I’ll help, but it won’t be easy.” Holmes took a seat on my bed and started removing his shirt.

“What’s the plan?”

“Sleep.”

I snorted a laugh. “Holmes, sleep? I’ve never heard two such words in the same sentence.”

“That was more of a fragment than it was a sentence.”

“Where do we start in the morning?”

“Mr Hughes will be in the stables at five in the morning. I propose we start in the servant’s cottage; see what we can find in his living quarters.”

“Brilliant and what about Mr Beddoes?”

“I doubt he’ll be of much use. I’ve gathered quite enough information about the man. I’m more interested in investigating Mr Hughes’ motives and what has kept him here for so long with so little to sustain him.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep with all the excitement.”

“You are really keen on bringing these men to justice.”

“Of course.” My smile faded as I looked into Holmes’ uncertain eyes. “This could be my one and only chance to make things right with my family. I know you wouldn’t understand, but it’s important to me.”

“It will likely be dangerous.” Said he, peeling off his socks and the rest of his shirt.

“If I don’t at least try, everything will be for naught. I don’t want to live the rest of my life as a coward; knowing I let them get away with it.”

Holmes kept stripping, taking off his trousers, and then his underwear. Before long he was very naked.

“What are you doing?” I asked him as he started turning off the lights. He shushed me and drew the curtains closed, casting the room in darkness. I felt a slight chill creep up my spine, not knowing where Holmes was standing. He was absolutely predacious at times, without the slightest hint of playfulness in his endeavours. But, for whatever reason, it drove me positively wild.

It felt as if I was being hunted, stalked, by a massive tiger. I could only hear his heavy breathing until suddenly there was silence. My mind played tricks on me, making up sights and sounds in the dark. I saw motion out of the corner of my eye and turned just as I was attacked from the other side.

Holmes had me pinned to the bed and was actively trying to tear my clothes off when I noticed a light emanating from under the curtains.

“Holmes.” I said breathlessly as he bit at my neck. “There’s a light.” His hand went straight down the front of my trousers and I curled my toes. “At the window.” He continued to lick and nip at my chin, unperturbed by my statement.

Suddenly, he drew in a sharp breath and pressed up on his hands to look toward the window. “It’s a light from the cottage. Trevor, you have a clear view of Hughes’ bedroom window!” He shouted as he tore away from me and headed straight for the window. “Binoculars.” He begged. “Your father must have some.” He tore open the curtains and the room became dimly lit.

I was torn between running off to find my father’s binoculars and throwing Holmes down and snogging him fiercely.

“Hurry!” Holmes said impatiently. I left quickly to begin my search and when I was returning from my father’s bedroom with the binoculars in hand, I noticed one of the trophy rooms had a light on. I stopped just short of the doorway and peered into the room.

Mr Beddoes was in bright spirits with a healthy amount of whiskey in his glass.

“It won’t be long now, my pet.” He told the centre lion, stroking his mane.

I ran back to the bedroom, locked the door, and handed Holmes the binoculars.

“You should put some clothes on.” Said I, gathering his shirt and trousers off the floor.

“Should.” He repeated disinterestedly.

After an hour of excruciatingly silence I finally broke down and asked, “Well?”

“He’s asleep.”

“Why are you watching a sleeping man?” I asked with an annoyed huff.

“I’m not. I’m watching Mr Beddoes; he’s in the corner of the room.” I saw Holmes lick his lips in excitement and my blood turned to ice. “Fool.” Holmes chuckled.

“What is he doing?”

“Loading your father’s shotgun.”

“Police.” I choked out.

The shot rang out like a muffled crack and Holmes’ face turned pale.

“He’ll be after us next!” I shouted in a panic.

“We needn’t worry about Mr Beddoes coming after us.”

“Why?”

“He’s dead.”


	20. Chapter 20

_Sherlock Holmes:_

Dead silence was a warm welcome in the waiting room. John had the unfocused gaze of a battle-weary soldier. I hadn’t said a word to him since I reached the hospital, because nothing needed to be said. Apologies would only make matters worse and talking about it would only make it seem more real.

We were packed in, shoulder to shoulder, waiting for news. John closed his eyes and began to drift off. It had been a long night and the lack of communication was disturbing.

I gave John the use of my shoulder for a make-shift pillow. His breathing quickened and his brows furrowed. Even in sleep he could find no relief. He let out a whimper and bit at his lip. When I couldn’t bear the sight any longer, I woke him from his dream.

John sucked in a deep breath and sat up straight. He swallowed hard and waited for his eyes to adjust.

“I want to be alone.” He said. I left him without a word. If there was one thing I could understand, it was the need to have time to oneself.

It was noon when I returned to Baker Street. Trevor stood up and greeted me at the door.

“How is she?” He asked worriedly.

“No word.”

“And John?”

I walked to my chair and took my seat. “Tea.”

“Of course.” Trevor rushed off to fix tea. His hands were shaking and I saw it was a struggle for him to lift the kettle. I noticed his moustache had conspicuously vanished. My thoughts took me elsewhere until Trevor placed a cup of tea on my side table.

“You’re hiding something from me and not well, might I add.”

Trevor rubbed his hands clean on his jeans. “It’s nothing. Side-effects from the medication.”

“You shaved.”

“Silly nose bleeds, Sherlock. Don’t fret.” He took a seat on the sofa and I looked to John’s chair pointedly. “So no word whatsoever?” He asked, ignoring my cue. I watched his hand tremble as he held his tea-cup up to his lips. He barely sipped his tea before setting it down again.

“Sit.”

“I am sitting.”

“In _the_ chair.”

Trevor looked towards John’s chair. “I didn’t mean to run off like that, before.”

“I said sit.”

“I can hear you just fine.”

“Then listen to me. You can never replace John. No one can. And the same could be said for you. Now take his chair.”

“No.” He protested. “If you want to be on level ground with me, take a seat on the sofa beside me.”

“This is absurd.” I said, complying with the man’s demands. He was extremely smug when I took a seat next to him so I stretched out and made the most of it, placing my feet on his lap. “Well?” I said, wriggling my toes.

“I’m not rubbing your feet.” He laughed as if I were joking. In the end he broke down and massaged my feet while I used the pleasant stimulus to gather my thoughts. He began to massage to my calves and I hadn’t realised how sore they were until he started working them over. His grip was weak and the pressure was light which was absolutely perfect; I was never a fan of deep tissue massages.

I closed my eyes and gave into the sensation. His hand ventured north towards my south and I was in no mood to protest.

My constant nagging headache began to lift and I undid my zip to give him better access. There is no doubt in my mind that sexual stimulation is beneficial in moderation and it had been far too long. Trevor slid ever closer and I could feel he was beginning to get excited as well so I sat straight up.

“Alright, we’ll do it as we did in Harrow.” I said warming up my hands.

“Oxford.”

“Right.” I wasted no time with turning on the telly to drown out our loud moans, checking to see the door was locked, and undoing Trevor’s jeans. Soon we were engaged in some good old fashioned mutual masturbation. I threw my head back against the sofa and relaxed, trying to match Trevor’s tempo.

After only a short while Trevor began to fade. I looked over at his shamed face and in a selfless act I manoeuvred onto my knees before him and began sucking him off. I couldn’t quite remember if I’d ever done it to him before, per se, but he was greatly appreciative nonetheless. He ran his hands through my hair and sang my praises.

He was a sizeable chap, nothing to scoff at, with visual appeal as well. I was glad to see I was still in good form; Trevor curled his toes and begged for mercy from God, which could only mean I was exciting him in all the right places.

Trevor was so thrilled with my technique he forgot to give me a fair warning before delivering his load onto my tongue. I was able to spit out most of it, preferring not to have the lingering taste of semen in my mouth.

I stood and within a matter of seconds, Trevor was returning the favour.

“Look at me while you’re doing it.” I said, lifting up his chin. “You’ve the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.” I knew the bit of romance would work wonders with him. More importantly, I was very turned on by the sight of my erect manhood disappearing and reappearing with every small thrust.

His soft palate worked wonders on my glans. He was far more skilled with his tongue than in our younger days. He had a way of making my mind go blank, if only momentarily. Fortunately, he knew better than to use his hands to cheat and took great pride in his craft. It did, in fact, help my libido when we caught each other’s eye.

My blood pressure plummeted and I nearly fainted as I built up to the grand finale. I had the decency to give Trevor a warning before I shot off my load. Ever eager to please, he kept going until I could take it no longer. I went blind from it all and felt a great relief sweep over me.

“Thank you.” I said, giving him a pat on the cheek. “I think I’ll go off to bed now.” I stumbled away from him, in a heavy daze.

“Would you-“

“Yes, sure, why not?” I turned and gave him a slight grin. “Might as well sleep together after all... that.”

“I was going to ask if you might like a glass of orange juice.”

“Should have offered it to me before; would have helped relax my throat.” I was feeling a bit hoarse. “No use in it now.” I pulled up my pants and fastened my zip once more. “Coming?”

“No thanks, already did.”

* * *

_Victor Trevor:_

“I’ve already told Mrs Cook.” Holmes said, taking a seat at my father’s desk. He placed his elbow on the desk top and began rubbing his right temple.

“How do you propose we alert the police? There isn’t a phone for miles! By the time we do phone them, Hughes will be hours away from here.”

“We could organize a search party, he cannot have gone far.”

“Why would Mr Beddoes kill himself?”

“For God’s sake, would you shut up so I can hear myself think?”

My heart sank as I sank into my father’s armchair by the empty fireplace. “Fine.” I choked out. I covered my mouth with my hand so he couldn’t hear me sob. I was terrified and Holmes wasn’t helping matters.

Holmes closed his eyes and slipped into a zen-like state. I started to calm down, watching his facial expressions as he traversed his mind, looking for an answer.

Suddenly he slammed both of his hands on the desk and exclaimed, “I’ve got it! Your father never threw anything away from his travels, did he? Remember the drawer with the false bottom? The postcards. J.A.?” Holmes stood up and began shaking with excitement. “Don’t you see?”

“He’s a compulsive hoarder?” I ventured.

“Somewhere, hidden in this house is evidence that should put an end to all of this.”

“I truly believe it is a bit more complicated than you think.”

“It won’t take the police long to figure out Mr Beddoes was the one who took his own life; then Mr Hughes will be off scot-free.”

“But what motivation would Mr Beddoes have to kill himself?”

“Instead of being extorted for the rest of his life, Mr Beddoes chose the easy out. And with such good timing; Hughes can’t possibly steal his share now!”

“You mean to say, he would have waited for Mr Beddoes to cash in on his inheritance and then kill him?”

“Of course.” Holmes gave me a strange look of uncertainty.  

Just then, it dawned on me, “Mr Beddoes, before he died, when I was off fetching the binoculars, I saw him in the _Lion’s Den_. He said ‘it won’t be long now’ I suppose he meant... you know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” He shouted as he grabbed me by the shoulders.

“You seemed preoccupied.”

He rushed me out of the library and up the stairs to the _Lion’s Den_.

“If Mr Beddoes knew the evidence was in here, why didn’t he destroy it?” Asked I, as Holmes began searching the room.

“Because, he’s the one that planted it!” Holmes shouted, excitedly.

“But why?”

“All will be answered soon, Trevor. Now help me search!” Said he, sticking his hand in a lion’s mouth.

I went up to the central lion that I had seen Mr Beddoes petting, shortly before his death. I stroked the lion’s mane, much in the same way he did. I pressed my palm against the lion’s neck and ran my fingers down the seam. I stopped when I felt something odd, a small tear in the stitching. I looped my finger in and felt the edge of a letter.

“Holmes!” I shouted. Holmes darted over, leaping over a lion’s back to stand beside me.

“I knew it!” He exclaimed. “It isn’t a proper suicide without a note.” I handed him the letter and he tore it open. He smoothed the paper out in his hands and began to read. “James, it is with a sad heart I write you this letter, knowing the great disgrace it will bring your family, but I’ve seen Gloria Scott in the papers and I can keep quiet no longer. Please forgive me, my good man, but Hudson is right. I can’t live with this weighing on my conscious...” Holmes paused and held the paper up to the light.

“What is it?” Asked I.

“This letter is dated the sixth of April, 1966.”

“Has he revised it since?”

Holmes shook his head and licked his bottom lip as he continued to read. Holmes finished and folded up the paper. “I was hoping for more of a lead.”

“The police will know what to make of it.” Said I, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“It won’t be enough. We need to find out who this Gloria Scott is and I have a feeling the answer may lie in the gamekeeper’s cottage.”

“Oh no.” I said with a groan. “Holmes, we must phone the police. We can’t have a dead body in the cottage! They’ll hold us accountable for not reporting the crime.”

“All the more reason for us to break into Hughes’ room.”

“How could that possibly prompt a break-in?”

“Hughes has a _phone_.”

I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath. “If we must.” I said resolutely. “But you cannot disrupt the crime scene. I don’t want any of this coming back to haunt you and me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”


	21. Chapter 21

_Sherlock Holmes:_

“Bad dream?” Trevor asked, turning on the bedside lamp. I sat at the edge of the bed, letting my head sink into my shaking hands.

“Don’t worry yourself with it.” I said, scrubbing at my forehead with my fingertips.

“I knew something was wrong.” Trevor shifted to sit up. “Mary is in good hands. It won’t be long before-“

“Why would I wake from a dead sleep over Mary?” I let my hands fall to reveal my tear stained face.

“You’ve been a nervous wreck ever since she was admitted.”

“She’s under twenty-four hour surveillance, why would I be worried?”

“I don’t know, you just are. Perhaps for your friend? It is his first child.”

“You have me mistaken for someone else.” I let out a slow breath and went to get dressed.

“It’s two in the morning, where do you think you are going?” Trevor asked with a laugh.

“Out.” I said, searching for a pressed shirt.

“Was it something I said?” Trevor asked worriedly. He was so frightened of stepping on my toes of late it was becoming a chore not to upset him.  

“No.” I said softly. I sat on the edge of the bed once more to pull on my socks. In an attempt to calm his nerves, I gave him a peck on the cheek. “Don’t wait up.”

“Where are you going?”

“Hospital.”

“I see.” He said with a fond smile. “You know it is past visiting hours.”

“I’ll find a way in.”

“I’m sure you will.” Trevor grasped my hand gently in his. “It isn’t Mycroft’s fault.”

I pulled away and made a hasty retreat.

I couldn’t stand the waiting game. It was aggravating to say the least. I wouldn’t accept any of Mycroft’s excuses. I was sick of empty promises, from Mycroft, the doctors, John... everyone.

I didn’t make it far before my guilt got the better of me. I made several unnecessary turns, constantly moving forward but always looking back. I had never been so lost and confused. I allowed my feet to take me where they pleased and ended up on John’s doorstep, cursing myself.

I rapped on the door, more urgently than I had intended. John answered and I slipped in unnoticed. There were no words exchanged, though there ought to have been. Many things needed saying, yet neither of us had the courage to say them.

If there was a rational explanation for my behaviour, I would have come up with it. John had his reasons. His wife was in hospital, he was desperately alone and frightened; he needed comforting. I on the other hand had no one to blame but myself and God if it didn’t feel good to be wrapped up in the arms of another man.

I should backtrack to the precise moment my life went to shambles. It all started when I returned to the hospital after John received word of Mary’s status. She was stable but pre-eclamptic. They claimed it was severe enough to warrant hospitalization and twenty-four hour bed-rest for as long as they could manage before they would be forced to induce labour.

John spoke with optimism, as per usual. However, I noticed his intermittent tremor had returned. His emotions became explosive and unpredictable. I took him home to sort out his feelings and to get him away from the God forsaken hospital that would soon become his second home. I had only just stepped inside when John had a violent outburst and began shouting every obscenity under the sun.

He cursed God and asked what he had done to deserve such a thing. At that moment, I should have left. I knew he was being erratic and therefore couldn’t be held accountable for his actions. I had a feeling we were on a path to destruction; either John would strike me or kiss me and unfortunately he chose the latter.

I can say that I fought it at first. He gripped me firmly by the back of the neck and dragged me down to his level and I fought it with every ounce of my will power, only to be glued lip to lip with my best friend in a matter of seconds. He was so forceful and frantic; I nearly went weak in the knees.

It was frightening how unreserved John had become. When I did have the chance to pull away, I didn’t, and thus I was the one that propagated this torrid affair. John needed someone to work out all of his anger and frustration on and unfortunately that someone was me.

Instead of becoming his human punching bag, I was his male mistress (a misteress). While comforting him, I was destroying myself.

One would be apt to believe John felt the same way; that he believed he was doing Mary wrong, but something in his eyes told me this was how he wanted it to be. John could potentially have had the best of both worlds and if it wasn’t for Trevor I would have agreed to it whole-heartedly. John could be incredibly selfish when it came to matters of the heart.

As it were, I began seeking John’s comfort as well, only to find emotional torment. With each passing day, Trevor’s chances for survival were wearing thinner. I began noticing the re-emergence of symptoms we had long since rid of combined with the appearance of new symptoms. Each screening gave me no comfort. I was certain the cancer was going to spread and there was little I could do to stop it.

That night I had turned in early and Trevor took notice. He wasn’t surprised when I woke up in a cold-sweat. He should have known it concerned him.

I left before I had the chance to confront him and chose to throw it all away and seek out John’s embrace.

John led me up the stairs to the guest bed. Going by his grip strength, he’d been up all night for the past two nights. He had been waiting for me. My grasp tightened on his hand, searching for reassurance. Instead, I was dragged into bed, to be kissed, caressed, and fondled gently until neither of us could keep our eyes open.

John’s night terrors had ceased and he was able to sleep soundly with me beside him. I couldn’t say the same for myself.

Casework wasn’t enough to take my mind off things. It didn’t pain me to bring John along; in fact it brought back a great deal of normalcy to our relationship. However, when I was met with a challenge, cancer was always in the back of my mind. Trevor’s cancer had become a cancer in and of itself in my mind.

It wasn’t the suffering or endless hours of fighting the dreaded disease that infuriated me; it was the insolvability of the matter. There was only one solution to cancer and that was death. I was convinced the immortal cells would suck every bit of life out of Trevor while we sat by idly, waiting for Mycroft to pull through.

Being John’s vice only made matters worse. I didn’t have a moment to myself anymore. I’d return home to face my problems and when I’d run away they’d find me again in some other form.

Dawn’s light began streaming through the bedroom window and I knew it was time I left. John kept his arm draped around me. I couldn’t possibly blame him. He was only human after all.

Things continued much in the same manner up until Christmas. John’s wife remained in the hospital and Trevor remained in limbo.

“Any day now.” John said solemnly. He anticipated his world turning topsy-turvy once more; hopefully for the better. An emergency caesarean section was always in the back of John’s mind. Every day they could post-pone delivery meant a greater chance of survival for his son. We had quite the opposite problem.

“You’re having dinner at mine, eight o’clock.” I said, staring up at John’s ceiling. I tried to focus in on the cobwebs in the corner of the ceiling, but found my thoughts drifting back to Trevor. “He expects you to be miserable.”

John propped himself up on to his elbow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t have to put on a show.”

“Right, I assumed you’d have that covered.” John sat up and I held him firmly by the wrist.

“Don’t.” I ran my thumb over the base of his palm, knowing it would make him shudder. It didn’t take long to find John’s erogenous zones; I knew many of them already from outside observations. If I was a cruel man, John could have easily been putty in my hands.

John collapsed against me and we kissed languidly until it was my set turn-back time. He knew better than to ask me to stay longer than I meant to and let me go without protest.

I arrived home to find Trevor asleep. I gave his pulse a check and watched him breath for a minute before covering him with a blanket. I saw the decorated tree in the corner of the parlour and knew I was in trouble. We had been fighting over decorating the damned thing for a week and Trevor had finally broken down and done it himself.

If he went out shopping for ornaments then likely he’d been out shopping for me. I had more important things to tend to than purchasing meaningless gifts which always caused a debate. He shouldn’t have been spending any of his money anyhow.

The skin on his finger tips was cracked and sore. He’d been slaving away at making the place look presentable and wore himself out. He’d had another nose bleed, which likely prompted his lying down.

I couldn’t have cared any less about the state of the flat, presents, or a bloody Christmas tree. I woke Trevor to try and move him to the bed.

“Forget dinner.” I said as I pulled him up to standing.

“Mrs Hudson said she’d prepare something; there’s no reason to fret.”

“You’re over extending yourself.”

“Tis the season.” He said with a yawn. “Though I could use some rest before John arrives. Join me?”

“Just until you fall asleep, I have important matters to attend to.”

He gave me a tired grin and leaned forward for a hug. I became rigid and Trevor noticed right away.

“What’s the matter?” He asked with a worried look. He gripped my arms and I tensed.

“I have a lot on my mind.” I said, dismissively. “Perhaps you should lie down without me.”

“You always have a lot on your mind.” Trevor ran a finger down my chest, attempting to illicit a response.

“You’ve been out to Harrods. I told you not to buy me anything.” I used my accusation as an excuse to pull away.

Trevor shook his head. “Surely this isn’t what this is all about and if it is, I’m sorry.” A fleeting smirk passed his lips. “Harrods, of all places. How did you come up with it?”

“The ornaments and culmination of fragrances, suggests high end department store. Given the time restraints, Harrods is the only department store you could have managed to travel to. Whatever it is you purchased for me, you can return it.”

“I bet you know exactly what I got for you.”

“It’s downstairs with Mrs Hudson. I know that.” I looked to the floor. “Would you like me to guess?”

“You never guess.” He said with a laugh. “Go on then, impress me.”

“It shan’t be difficult. Show me your hands.” Trevor obeyed and showed me the palms of his hands. I turned them over and inspected the damage from decorating the tree. “Other than your fingertips, your hands are relatively intact. Meaning the gift is small.” He gave me a queried look. “Your hand would have been rubbed raw if the bag had any significant weight.” I ran a thumb over his sore fingertips. “You really should have waited for me to return before decorating the tree yourself.”

“Yes and by the time you would have gotten around to it, it would be Easter. Go on; tell me more about my shopping adventure.”

“It isn’t consumable, fit in your pocket, and has something to do with our past. Am I getting warmer?”

“I’m not saying anything.” He smiled and I couldn’t help but grin in response.

“Something in your expression tells me you didn’t purchase it at all. And in fact, you were having it cleaned at JJ Fox. I cannot believe you held on to it for all these years.”

“I thought, even if you won’t use it now, it would be nice to have it back and in working order.”

“I suppose you purchased a tin of tobacco as well, some artisan’s blend?”

“Just in case you decided to pick it up again.”

“You really are terrible.” I chuckled. We shared a brief and chaste kiss before he retreated to the bedroom.

John arrived at half past eight, apologising profusely, as if it mattered. Trevor was still fast asleep and I had no intentions of waking him.

“How is he feeling?” John asked, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

“As you would imagine.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so self-absorbed lately.”

“You should be.”

“I should be... sorry? Or I should be self-absorbed?”

“Both.” I conceded with a sigh. “Can we discuss this later?”

“How much later?”

“Preferably never.”

“I’m with you there.” John shook his head and cursed under his breath. “You should wake him.”

“Let him rest.”

Trevor burst out of the bedroom and walked straight into the kitchen. “We must to go to the hospital, _now_.”

* * *

_Victor Trevor:_

“We must leave, _now_.” I warned Holmes. It wasn’t doing any good rooting around Mr Hughes’ things in search of something that likely didn’t exist. “We are disturbing the crime scene. Would you like to go to prison?”

“I’ve got it.” Said he, half under Mr Hughes’ bed. He crawled out from under the bed with a large shoe box in hand. “How original.” He said with a laugh.

My eyes kept darting to Mr Beddoes in the corner of the room. It was a gruesome sight that made my stomach churn. The image of his face will be burned in my mind forever. How he had managed to swallow the barrel of the shotgun and pull the trigger was beyond me. Holmes seemed unfazed by it all, as always.

“You may phone the police now, I have all I need, right here.”

“And you don’t believe they would have been able to find this on their own?”

“Without a shadow of a doubt.” Holmes opened the box and laid its contents out on the desk. I left him to phone the police. The dispatcher was hesitant in accepting my story. I could already tell there would be a lengthy investigation. I prayed that Holmes hadn’t somehow made it look like we were the culprits; the last thing I needed were murder charges on top of everything else.

The police arrived and Holmes and I were immediately pulled into separate rooms.

“We were in my room when I noticed a light, coming from Mr Hughes’ bedroom window. I had gone to fetch the binoculars and on my way-“

“What were you doing spying on Mr Jack Hughes?”

“We had reason to suspect he’d been involved in some sort of foul play, involving my father, who recently passed away. You see, in my father’s will-“

“Thank you; that will be enough.” The inspector said as his associate came through the door.

“But... I haven’t given a full statement.”

“We’ll have time for that later. Excuse me for a moment.” The inspector got up and left, leaving me behind in the spare bedroom. I heard Holmes’ voice from the other room. I got up and pressed my ear to the door, only to hear his voice become muffled and indiscernible. What could he be saying that would cause such great interest?

The door opened suddenly and I was nearly thrown off my feet as Holmes was shuffled in, in handcuffs. The inspector sat him down and explained things very slowly. “Tampering with evidence is a criminal offence, Mr Holmes. Now, either you calm down or-“

“I did nothing of the sort; I was trying to lead you in the right direction. But, if you won’t listen to my input then fine. I’ll say no more.”

“You knew Edmund Beddoes was dead upon entering the building, correct?” Holmes remained silent. “Opening the door is enough to disturb a crime scene and destroy evidence. Have some common sense, boy.” Holmes merely glared at the detective inspector. “I’m willing to bend the rules, just this once. That is, if you’re willing to cooperate and not _touch._ ”

“Sorry, sir. He doesn’t often listen to reason.” I elaborated.

“Unfortunately his tongue is about as sharp as his wit. The team won’t listen if he keeps barking orders. He has a point though. An innocent man wouldn’t flee the scene.”

“Does the disappearance of the _Gloria Scott_ mean nothing to you?” Holmes asked, gritting his teeth.

“It has nothing to do with the case.”

“It has everything to do with the case!” Holmes blurted out. “Why else would Hughes have returned? He was extorting Beddoes and Trevor all these years in order to right his wrong.”

“What proof do you have?” The inspector asked with an exacerbated sigh.

“I have letters, post cards, the wristwatch, the handkerchief, what else do you need?”

“Definitive proof.”

“The box under his bed contains the birth certificate, marriage certificate, and documents signed by a Mr Jack Hudson, a staff member on the Gloria Scott, which set sail from the West Indes in March of 1956 and was never recovered. Also on board were a Mr James Armitage and Edmund Evans. Both were lost at sea along with the owner of the ship Mr Jonathan Scott, a multi-millionaire who had recently lost his wife Gloria and purchased the yacht in her honour. Mr Armitage and Evans were notorious in the Americas for their rejuvenation of the ‘Ponzi scheme’ and had promised investors returns of up to a thousand percent on their investments. Both men were convicted in the state of Florida. During trials the men managed to escape police custody and flee to the Bahamas, where they met up with their old naval comrade, Jack Hudson. He informed the men of two open positions on the _Gloria Scott_ and they gladly took the opportunity to set sail for Australia. The ship was manned by eight men, including a former embezzler by the name of Prendergast. Obviously you can see where this is going, inspector.”

“I can’t say that I do.” He admitted.

“Half of the hired crew were pirates of the land, about to be sent out to sea. It was Prendergast that convinced Hudson to change course and port in West Africa. En route, Hudson caught word of a conspiracy to throw over the ship. Those who refused to comply were to be disposed of immediately. Having lost their fortune in America, Evans and Armitage went along with the plan and agreed to divide the spoils once they had sold the ship in West Africa. Without warning, Prendergast awoke early one morning, entered Mr Scott’s cabin, and shot the sleeping man with a flintlock pistol.” Holmes took in a deep breath. “Inside the shoe box, in the gamekeeper’s bedroom is the pistol used to kill Mr Jonathan Scott and his faithful crew. You will find, in your records that the pistol belonged to none other than the multi-millionaire Jack Prendergast, who was murdered in his family home, not five years ago; his trusty eighteenth century flintlock pistol being the only item missing from the house. Prendergast was shot by the very same pistol that took the lives of the unfortunate men on the _Gloria Scott_. And if nothing else, that proves that the man we know as Mr Hughes, killed Jack Prendergast.”

Both the inspector and I went into a bit of shock. Holmes was so certain of himself, his testimony sounded infallible.

“He never wanted the money. He wanted the men to suffer for their sins as he did for close to forty-years. Can’t you see? He never took a penny of the money. He was forced to leave his wife, change his name, and move away to start anew. He never wanted to be a part of it all. He returned eleven years ago to blackmail the men and destroy their lives. For over a decade he’s been torturing old Trevor and Mr Beddoes. And in his final year of life he turned Evans against Armitage, only to force the barrel down Evan’s throat in the end. Both men died a miserable death, just as Hudson intended.”

I collapsed into my chair, unable to believe my father would allow for all of it to happen. I couldn’t bring myself to believe the man was a pirate. He enjoyed his spoils, but at what cost? He lost everything because of it. He’d never worked an honest day in his life and suffered the consequences. Now I was left to clean up his mess. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to hate my father.

“He killed my mother, he must have.” Said I, staring at the floor. “You cannot tell me otherwise. Even if my mother threatened to take us away, my father could have never-“ I became choked up with tears.

It was a hard pill to swallow, but I needed a dose of reality.


	22. Chapter 22

_Sherlock Holmes:_

Reality hit almost immediately after Trevor received his first dose of anaesthetic; I was left speechless and bewildered at how fast everything was moving. In twelve hours time, Trevor would be cured and his likelihood of survival would increase by tenfold. There was only enough time to wish him well before he was whisked away into the operating theatre.

“It’s about time.” I told Mycroft on my way out of the pre-op room.

“I do believe a thanks should be in order.”

“You said six months.”

“I’m certain you are fully aware grown-ups can’t always keep their promises.” He said with a tut.

“He could have died. You sick...” I cut myself short, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me worked up.

“All’s well that ends well.” He said haughtily. “Don’t you agree?”

“Leave me alone.” I rushed out the double doors and on to the street before Saint Mycroft had the opportunity to gloat.

I returned home to find John hurriedly pulling on his shoes.

“Really, what an inopportune time to have a baby.” I said, taking my seat on the sofa.

“Why aren’t you with Victor?” John asked as he frantically searched his pockets for his wallet.

“I needn’t spend twelve hours in a waiting room when I have a perfectly good waiting room at home.” I said, settling in for a long winter’s nap. “Go on.”

“You’re not coming with?”

“You sound surprised.” I scoffed. “Go on, I’m sure I’ll see enough of the little rat over the next sixty years.” I rolled over and closed my eyes for what felt like only a moment only to be awoken by Mrs Hudson several hours later.

“It’s a boy.” She said with unbridled joy.

“Has Trevor come out of surgery yet?”

“No.”

“Wake me when he does.”

“I’m heading over right now if-“

“You know how I hate waiting.”

“But, Sherlock.” She pleaded.

“And how much I hate hospitals.”

“Sherlock.” She chided.

“The mere thought of waiting in a hospital is unbearable.”

“You’ve been in and out of that hospital for seven months, four hours won’t kill you.”

“Unless in my weakened state I contract some fatal flesh-eating virus, then no, I suppose not. It still doesn’t justify my going early. You know the saying, killing birds with stones and whatnot.” I dismissed her but Mrs Hudson stood her ground.

“You are going to see John’s baby and that’s final.”

“I have a full year to see John’s baby.” I protested. “Why not wait until Trevor is out of surgery? I’m certain they will still be there.”

“Selfish. Is what it is. If you had a baby, John would be the first one to visit.”

“God, I’d expect a media frenzy. A man having a baby? I could see the headlines now.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite get the whole picture. Why don’t you tell me about it in, oh say, five hours? That’d be lovely.” I took her moment of shocked silence to roll back over and catch some shut eye.

It had been years since I slept so well. The world was finally off my shoulders and everything could go back to abnormal. John would go back to ignoring me in favour of spending time with his wife and I could go back to ignoring Trevor as he went on with his life. Hopefully he’d find a nice career with comfortable wages and settle down somewhere in Essex. Far enough to not cause trouble; but close enough in case I needed to call upon him.

Everything was finally looking up and then John decided to pay a visit.

“I told Mary I was going home to pack a few things.” John elaborated as he shut the door and placed his coat on the hook. He turned the dead-bolt and I gave him a questioning look. I felt like an idiot, sitting there, waiting for John’s next move.

I didn’t anticipate he’d pounce. In no time he was on top of me, trying to relieve his tension.

“This isn’t right.” I said, pushing him away.

“I know.” He said, resuming his endeavours. Damn those lips and damn myself for being drawn into it. We weren’t engaging in sex, but kissing seemed worse, it was far more intimate. Why did I have to be the target of his mid-life crisis?

Things became heated between us and I had to pull away. I was out of breath and my head was teeming with destructive thoughts. I sat up and felt faint.

“Go.” I said, taking in slow breaths. “I can’t-“ I couldn’t even look at him without feeling my blood pressure plummet. “I’m sorry. I don’t... I shouldn’t be leading you on like this.”

“I’m not asking you to give up anything.”

“Do you understand how human nature works?” I asked, turning towards him. “Do you believe they’ll be happy to find us together?”

“Sherlock, do you have any idea what it’s like to make the biggest mistake in your life?”

“I believe I do.” I said firmly. “Because I’m making it right now.”

* * *

_Victor Trevor:_

“If you want breakfast, I’m making it right now.” I shouted down the hall. Holmes remained in bed, wasting the day away while I carried on with the housework. We returned to Oxford shortly after the affair at Donithrope and settled down in our own one-bedroom flat, intent on sharing the rent for the year. I worked to forget the summer where I had lost my father. I wanted to believe in a man that never existed; a kind man that won all his money in strategic investments instead of piracy. And one that loved my mother, above all things, and would have never succumbed to extortion.

Holmes destroyed my world view and made me a much more grounded person. Occasionally I blamed him for all my life’s problems and other times I claimed he was the only thing keeping me going.

I never missed a lecture from then on and kept my head down to avoid any confrontations. I never saw Holmes in the lecture theatre. He began missing tests and became highly disorganized. He was very unlike himself in our final term together.

He was erratic and emotional instable. I began taking calls from his brother, Mycroft, when Holmes refused to answer. I feared he had taken a turn for the worse and perhaps was showing early signs of schizophrenia.

It all started when he went to see an old friend of his from Harrow. I’d met the lad on several occasions and he seemed like the wrong sort, but I didn’t have the heart to tell Holmes. They never met for long, but after they did, Holmes would either become severely agitated or absolutely euphoric.

It didn’t take long to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Before declaring an intervention, I sat him down, and told him what I knew.

“I’m working on the formulation.” He told me. “It won’t be long before I level out. I just need...” Holmes’ eyes fluttered shut and his hands shook as he spoke. “I’m in need of an excipient. Surely you can help.”

“Just stop, it’s as easy as that.”

“You have no idea what it’s like!” He stood and threw his chair to the ground. “God!” He shouted as he clutched his hair. “My mind lacks focus! Clarity! I can’t manage this mind field I’ve created. It’s like a bee hive, constantly buzzing in my head, it’s maddening!” Holmes sat on the floor and began rocking back and forth, rubbing at his temples. “I need to gather my thoughts and the only way I can do so is through stimulation. It’s killing me to sit by and let my mind rot.”

“Drugs are a _temporary_ solution. You can’t even stabilize yourself now. Imagine how you’ll be ten, twenty years down the road. You’ll destroy that beautiful mind of yours and be an empty shell of your former self.”

“I don’t want this; I never wanted any of this. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. It just won’t stop.” He began sobbing heavily. “Make it stop.” He begged. I kneeled on the floor and held him in my arms. I had no way of easing his savage mind. He was truly cursed.

I only wished he’d see that we were kindred spirits. Instead he went searching for the Holy Grail. It was with a heavy heart that I moved out of the flat. I knew once he started compounding his own dose formulations of cocaine that he’d drag me down with him.

We grew apart slowly, with intermittent visits, sporadic phone calls, the occasional break in. I went on with my life, in denial, expecting the old Holmes to burst through the double doors and announce his presence to the lecture hall. I convinced myself I would always remember him as the exuberant and eccentric young lad that I had fallen in love with.

I found myself already silently saying good-bye to him and it truly saddened me to no ends. I don’t quite remember the last time I saw Holmes before he left Oxford, but I do remember the sullen look on Mycroft’s face when I told him what Holmes had been up to that term.

“You musn’t blame yourself.” He assured me. He placed a hand on my knee and held it there for far too long to be amiable.

“I don’t.” I told him. He withdrew his hand and went back to sipping his tea, trying to mask his disappointment. “I’m not saying I agree with his choices.”

“Of course not.” Mycroft lifted his eyebrows and gave me a look. “Why would you?”

“It’s not my place to speak.”

“Sherlock isn’t the full grown man you believe him to be. You give the boy far too much credit when it comes to maturity.”

“We all make terrible mistakes. Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.”

“I’m certain Sherlock will be stoned, but not in the manner in which you speak.”

“I’d appreciate you not talking about him like he’s some-“

“Junkie?” Mycroft said with a smirk. “You’ve all but let him go; I can see it in your tired eyes. Why not join us for the short vac. I know my mother would be glad to have you. Of course, Sherrinford will be there.”

“Why must you be so cruel? Can’t you see I’m broken?”

“You have little where else to go. Do think it over.” Said he, taking his leave.

It didn’t take me long to decide the last place on earth I wanted to be was under the same roof as Mycroft Holmes. I knew he cared about his brother, deeply. It showed in his face, no matter how much he tried to hide it. However, he cared a bit too deeply about me for my liking.

My second year was a blur of examinations and assignments. I became a slave to the system, mindlessly applying my limited knowledge to meaningless tasks. Holmes disappeared completely and every night I spent hours wondering what I could have done differently to have made him stay.

So life went on and the world kept turning, though I felt at a stand-still. I was convinced there wouldn’t be another like Sherlock Holmes and I was right. Every failed encounter reminded me of Holmes. I was embarrassed to be seen in public with another man and I didn’t want to keep strictly to the bedroom either.

I grew into my misshapen ears and large hands and feet over time. Once my undergraduate ended I was in tip-top shape with many female suitors eying me in the laboratory. I went on to graduate school, not knowing what else I should do with my life.

I became involved in research, but only as an assistant. I set about preparing buffer solutions, checking antibody stocks, reordering the same chemicals over and over again. I loaded the gels, ran the gels, transferred the gels, imaged the results, and went home with a sulphuric taste in my mouth every night.

I hardly knew what the purpose of our research was. I believe it was some sort of grand protein purification, with at least ten tethered receptors I had never heard of. My mentor was trying to prove some imaginary domain existed inside the cell’s membrane that was involved in the regulation of G coupled protein signalling. It took a decade for someone else to discover what we had been looking at and take the credit for it. Fortunately I was long gone by then.

I received my doctorate in organic chemistry and chemical biology from Oxford and decided to travel abroad after my great aunt passed away that summer. I steered clear of Africa and the Americas, knowing they’d only stir up painful memories, and found myself in India.

It was a world of contrasts. I was stunned by its great beauty and appalled by its filth. One never gets used to the tastes and smells of India, which can be exciting for those who are interested in Indian cuisine and are seeking a culinary adventure, but a nightmare for those with a weak stomach, like myself.

I was repelled by many of the disease states I saw in what some still considered the ‘untouchable’ population. I left Chennai in search of some peace and found it in Mandawa. At first I taught English, in the surrounding villages, and earned my keep helping young women learn to read. I became fluent in Hindi and settled in a village nearby, called Dabari, where the streets have no names because there weren’t any.

The people were kind to me and took to me immediately. I couldn’t step foot outside my house without at least ten people seeking my advice for their medical ailments. The more I told them I wasn’t ‘that kind of doctor’ the more they didn’t believe me.

I was limited in supplies, but I made do. My Pharmacopeia was at least ten years outdated by the time I began compounding for the village’s people. I felt as if I should have been sticking on auxiliary labels with silly incantations to go along with the treatment. I had no licence to practice or the equipment to meet the public’s demand.

I was working out of my kitchen, concocting rather formulating. The people took their medicine without question, knowing their outlook was poorer otherwise.

To the people I was known as the village’s noble avivāhita. My permanent bachelor status became the talk of the town and word travelled far and wide that there was an English bachelor in Dabari.

I couldn’t believe the suitors that were showing up at my door. The majority were highly educated young women, looking for an escape from India. They were indeed looking for love in all the wrong places and they were not looking for no as an answer.


End file.
